


Lost in the Middle

by aye_of_newt



Series: From the Brink [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Drug Use, Homelessness, It's the Hargreeves, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Substance Abuse, Trauma, Warnings not covered by tags can be found in the notes for the chapter they pertain to, and mental health, including but not limited to:, it's Klaus, mostly in reference to the ghosts, partially beta read, violence in several forms, what is hopefully a nuanced and thoughtful representation of several serious issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 151,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: For the first twelve years of his life, Klaus' powers were barely useful as he was unable to see nor hear any more of the dead than shadowy figures or unintelligible voices. It was only after he took a rather nasty tumble down the stairs and broke his jaw, prompting Reginald to allow Klaus to be given a small dose of morphine, that he was able to fully connect to the plane between the living and the dead.An AU in which drugs have the opposite effect on Klaus' powers.
Series: From the Brink [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027756
Comments: 727
Kudos: 643
Collections: Canon Divergent AUs





	1. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super absent for this fandom for like a year....I've been working on something. I'm still finishing the last chapters and undergoing editing, but I decided to go ahead and post the first chapter as a "trailer"/"teaser" to get me motivated to see it through. It will be over 100,000 words at completion. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> broken jaw and vomiting

Most people grow into their personalities as they age, discovering who they are through experimentation and experience, heartaches and friendships, life-long passions and teenage phases they cringe at by their mid-thirties. The ones who actually ever discover who they really are at all are the lucky ones, plenty of people walk through their entire lives without a core of identity to define themselves by. Klaus Hargreeves was not one of those people. By age five he knew exactly who he was⏤ excited, flamboyant, and completely and totally unconcerned with the opinions of others. Needless to say, Reginald did not appreciate this. 

Most of the children of the Academy exhibited some form of rebellion in their youth, but Klaus always seemed to be the least wary of the consequences, perhaps because he existed on the margins of usefulness and irrelevance, and therefore often escaped most of Reginald’s attention. Had Reginald been more interested in psychology than physiology, or if he had taken any sort of interest in the needs of his children, he might have wondered if Number Four’s actions were the result of a child craving attention that was lacking. But, needless to say, he was not that sort of man. Instead, beyond the few individualized training sessions in which Reginald attempted various methods to harness and increase his power, Number Four was left mostly to himself. He tended to lag behind the rest of the group during training, apparently unmotivated by sharp words and being sent to bed without supper. The most effective punishment that Reginald had yet found was solitary confinement, that is, sending Four to his room for a couple of days. But, seeing as such was rather inconvenient for him, Reginald did not exercise that power often. 

Beyond his defiant attitude, Number Four’s powers were a constant source of annoyance for Reginald. He had made the connection that Four was able to converse with the dead rather early, after the then four-year-old boy had come down with a rather nasty virus and been confined to his bed for several days, during which he insisted that his new friend Willie should have medicine too⏤ they were both sick after all. 

Something about the specificity and consistency of Four’s accounts of his ‘friend’ piqued Reginald’s interest. After combing through old files on the past owners of the mansion, and realizing that this _Willie_ was not something so ridiculous as an imaginary friend, but the remnants of a little boy who’d died there almost a hundred years before, Reginald had become rather fascinated with Four⏤ his power seemed to reach beyond the scope of reality even more so than the abilities of the others. For about a week, Four had become Reginald’s favorite, something One clearly did not appreciate. However, after every attempt to harness Four’s ability ended with failure, the boy not managing to summon more than vague shadows or, if he was lucky, unintelligible voices, the natural order of things quickly resumed its functions. 

Occasionally, Reginald would think of something new to try, usually involving some form of spiritual artifact he had found a reference to in an old crumbling book, but all attempts led to failure. These training sessions were intense and unpleasant, as Reginald tried everything from burning sage to burning Four in attempts to open a connection to the dimension of spirits. But in between, Four was granted an odd form of freedom, neither so overlooked as Seven nor as scrutinized as the others.

It was during one of the dry spells between Reginald’s new hypotheses that Four, dismissed from training for the afternoon for lack of usefulness, decided to try on Grace’s heels. Thus illustrating that, by the age of twelve, Four had known for some time and with great certainty who he was⏤ which, if you asked him, was fabulous. Unfortunately, the Academy uniform was decidedly _not_ so, even with the skirt Seven had loaned him, or the necklace he had borrowed (albeit with less explicit permission) from Three. 

Turning to examine his feet from every angle in the mirror of his bedroom, Four thought with absolute satisfaction that the pink stilettos where exactly what his wardrobe was missing. Feeling incredibly graceful and elegant, he began practicing his walk up and down the hallway, the slight clomping noise of the heels making no difference to him as he imagined himself strutting down the street, all heads turned towards him in admiration. His feet slid awkwardly in the loose shoes, causing him to stumble, which he quickly covered by dipping into a curtsy, pinching his skirt between two fingers delicately.  
“Why thank you, Your Highness,” he murmured, bowing his head graciously, “Of course I would be willing to become your personal fashion advisor.” He continued his walk, up and down the hallway, trying different walks with each turn. After ten or so passes, Number Seven opened her door. 

“I don’t mind you borrowing my skirt, Four,” she told him quietly. Seven did everything quietly. “But would you mind doing that somewhere else? I’m trying to practice,” she indicated the violin she was holding. “Those shoes are kinda loud.” 

Klaus grinned, “Of course, darling. Anything for my most _generous_ sister.”

She gave him a small smile back, “Thanks.”

He strutted somewhat wobbly away, waving his fingers goodbye daintily over his shoulder. The door closed and Klaus turned back to the stairs. He tossed his head back, remembering the movie Grace had let him watch the last time he’d woken from a night terror. Reginald had been gone on a trip and it had fallen on Mom to take care of them for the night. She had sat by him, stroking his hair as he lost himself in the story, the twisted bodies and screams of his dream fading as the people on screen fell in love. 

Imagining himself as Rose, Four ran his hand gently across the banister, descending the staircase. He could almost see Jack smiling up at him when the heel of his shoe snagged against the carpet. His heel slipped out and he fell, unable to catch himself as he tumbled down the staircase, his jaw cracking hard against the edge of the bottom step. The world went black.

***

When Four woke, he hurt frankly everywhere, but by far the worst was his jaw. He tried to groan but his mouth wouldn’t move and all that came out was a muffled moan. Four’s eyes opened in panic. If he hadn’t already been lying down, the disorienting blur of his double vision would have sent him tumbling again. He blinked rapidly and the world slid back into focus, if a little too bright. 

“You’re awake,” Reginald’s voice was flat as he appeared over Four, looking vaguely annoyed and rather unconcerned considering that his son had been knocked unconscious after a rather dramatic fall. 

Four tried to speak again, making only a strained whine. 

“You broke your jaw,” Reginald told him, frowning, “It will have to be wired shut for at least two weeks. May this serve a lesson for you, Number Four. Your foolishness does nothing but waste my time and bring unpleasantness upon yourself. Remember this next time you decide to _play ,”_ he spoke the word with disgust, as one would a curse, “this ridiculous attention-grabbing game of yours.” 

Four knew that even if he could use his voice, there wouldn’t have been a point in arguing⏤ not that that would have stopped him. It wasn’t a _game_. He wasn’t a game. He looked directly at Reginald, trying to convey as much in a glare. Reginald gave no signs of intimidation, gazing at Four with mild disinterest. “At least there is some advantage of this foolishness,” he spoke in the same detached voice as always as he reached out at took Four’s jaw in his hand, “you’ll be forced to hold your tongue for once, Number Four.” Reginald forced Four’s head away from him, “Maybe we will be lucky and the habit will stick.”

The surge of pain was overwhelming, and Four vomited, his eyes going wide with panic as he began to choke. Pogo, hovering in the corner, let out a shout, and even Reginald seemed surprised, freezing with his hand still stretched in the air. Grace was the one to react helpfully first, turning Four quickly onto his side. She pulled the wire cutters off the tray that still sat by his bedside and snapped the bands holding his mouth shut. His vomit splashed against her perfect white shoes, and Four felt a pang of guilt. He hoped that the pink ones weren't ruined by the fall. 

“Are you done, dear?” Grace asked, her voice as gentle and calm as always, apparently unaffected by the puke that she was standing in, though to be fair androids probably don’t have the same hang-ups around bodily fluids as humans do⏤ especially one that was programmed to serve as a caregiver for children. Four’s jaw still hurt, but the blinding pain was gone, replaced by a throbbing ache. He nodded stiffly. Grace gently guided him down onto his back. With tools reminiscent of a dentist’s, she cleaned his mouth from the taste of puke. Four kept his eyes on her, purposefully avoiding looking at Reginald, who he could feel still hovering behind his shoulder. Grace rewired his jaw carefully, Pogo handing her instruments as needed. When her work was finished, Grace stepped back. “There we are. All good as new,” she told him, smiling. She looked to Reginald and Four hesitantly followed her gaze. 

He seemed to have recovered most of his composure, but there was something in Reginald’s eyes that Four didn’t recognize. They looked at each other for a moment, Reginald very still and Four still shaking slightly. Pogo broke the quiet, venturing cautiously, “Perhaps, some pain medication is necessary for this instance, Sir.” 

Reginald stared at Klaus for a beat longer before abruptly turning his gaze to Pogo. “It appears that would be appropriate. Grace, morphine, point one milligram.” He held out his hand to her expectantly. She readied the syringe, passing it to Reginald. He swiftly administered the medication to Four, not looking at him. “Grace, monitor his status for the next few hours to ensure that treatment has been effective,” Reginald ordered. He turned away, disposing of the used needle and his gloves. He left, not looking back at Four who had slumped slightly in relief, his shaking slowly subsiding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please let me know how you're feeling about this so far!
> 
> ANY feedback is much loved and appreciated. I LOVE constructive criticism. 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Aye of Newt  
> <3


	2. Out of the Mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! In honor of season two FINALLY being released I am (finally) updating this fic! And I will be on a weekly basis from now on! Yaaaaaay! 
> 
> This fic is about 90% done in that the story is all written and it's in the editing process now with the help of my WONDERFUL beta Lionswaps  
> We have a good backlog of chapters all completed so I am cautiously optimistic that we will be able to stick to the schedule
> 
> And now...enjoy the chapter <3

  
  


For an hour, the morphine was a blessed relief. The pain disappeared, and Four was floating pleasantly. Then they found him. Unaware of the growing mass of death that hovered above him and pressing always closer, Four laid peacefully, his mind relaxed. He hovered between the worlds of consciousness and dreams, where he became a beacon for the spirits that occupied the spaces between plains. His unguarded state permitted them to reach out to him completely unimpeded in the way they had previously only been able to in the moments between Four falling asleep and waking up.

Creeping around the edges of the room, shadows began to take shape. No longer the familiar quiet mist that followed him through life, they instead split into dozens of shapes, becoming people,  _ bodies _ , in varying states of mutilation. Blood ran down torn flesh, vanishing before it could pool at their feet. They reached out to him, calling his number, begging and pleading for help, voices overlapping until he couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. 

When Four felt strong hands gripping his arms, pinning him down, it sent him spiraling from fear to full panic. Tearing his eyes from the man whose entrails hung grotesquely from his eviscerated stomach, Four searched wildly for who was grabbing him, an apparent new and horrific development of his powers. 

“Four! Four!” Grace’s face swam confusingly through the bodies of the dead above him. He had not heard her voice over the chorus of the dead before. Klaus made a high pitched whine through clenched teeth, unable to speak with his jaw wired shut. His chest spasmed as he tried to breathe through his nose faster, nearly choking. An arm, flayed open with long gashes down the forearms, reached through Grace’s chest. Four thrashed again in panic, trying to get away, his eyes widening as he attempted to communicate with Grace. 

“Hold still,” she told him, reaching for the tray that still lay nearby. “I’m going to cut the wire again, but you need to stay still, okay?”

Four gave a jerking nod as he lay as still as possible, still shaking as the dead leered at him from behind Grace. With two efficient cuts, his jaw was free, now throbbing in pain again as he forced himself to speak. 

“Mom,” Four’s voice broke as he fixed on her face, a single point of safety in the overwhelming chaos, wavering as it was through his tears. There was a small crease between her perfect eyebrows as she looked at him in apparent confusion. He tried to explain but couldn’t steady his breath enough to speak, still gasping for the air that had become so restricted. The screaming was making his head pound, though the voices seemed to be falling into the background more as he forced himself to focus on Grace.

“Grace!” Reginald barked, appearing at the doorway, “What is happening?” He walked swiftly to them, his expression not looking especially worried beyond a small frown, but his speed suggesting some sense of urgency. He scanned the monitors, taking in Four’s wild heartbeat. “Is he having a reaction? Or was the dose too strong?”

Four’s head felt like it was splitting with the impossible way Reginald and the dead stood in the same space. 

“It doesn’t appear to be caused by the medication,” Grace told him calmly, loosening her grip on Four’s arms as his wild movements stilled. “It would seem Four is having a panic attack.” She looked back down at him again. “Take deep breaths now,” she told Four, patting his arm gently. “Deep breaths.” She mimicked the proper technique, pulling imaginary air into her nonexistent lungs. As his breathing slowed, she asked, already opening her arms, “Would you like a hug Number Four, dear?” Four was about to nod when Reginald spoke sharply.

“No, that is not necessary. Number Four does not need to be coddled like a child.” Grace’s perfectly calm expression faltered for a moment before she smiled again, straightening. 

“Of course,” she said brightly, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “Number Four does seem to be recovering well now without a hug.” Four punctuated her statement with a shaky deep breath and she gave him a small nod and smile in encouragement.

“A panic attack?” Reginald turned his attention to Four, incredulous. His look of mild concern had become a familiar reproach. “Really, Number Four,” he began to turn away, “why I continue to devote my valuable time to train you remains a mystery. Even Seven has proven herself to be more composed.”

Four’s stomach churned as the dead blurred around the edges, their voices becoming muffled once again. “It-it was the ghosts,” Four gasped, forcing himself through the pain that flared through his jaw in protest. Although it had been years since he had been able to see them fully manifested he knew what they were, distant memories of dreams half-forgotten called forth from the depths of his mind. His words slurred as he forced out, “They were everywhere. They were⏤” he broke off, feeling nauseous. 

Reginald stopped and turned slowly back to him. “Explain, Number Four.” He walked back to the bedside, staring down at Four, analyzing. “I’m listening.”

Four, unused to being looked at with interest rather than annoyance, was pinned under his father’s gaze. He swallowed with some difficulty. “The medicine had kicked in and I was starting to feel...  _ weird. _ .. out of it....”

***

Seven came to visit after dinner that night, looking teary and mournful as she crept up next to his bed. “I’m so, so sorry Four,” she whimpered, wiping her eyes. “This is all my fault.” 

Four looked at her in confusion.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs! I was the one who told you to stop walking around in the hallway and now your jaw is  _ broken _ and Dad is  _ angry _ ⏤” Seven’s voice broke off as she started crying harder, taking wet shuddering gasps as she tried to calm down. 

Four awkwardly patted her hand, unable to say anything. When Seven finally looked at him through reddened eyes, he mimed writing, asking for a pen and paper. 

Seven gave a little “Oh,” of understanding and searched around the office quickly, coming back with a legal pad and a pen. 

She handed them to Four and he scribbled,  _ Not your fault. _

“But⏤”

_ Clumsy.  _ Four held up the note and pointed to himself. 

“But I⏤”

Four pointed to the first note again. Before Seven could say anything he added,  _ Thanks. _

“For what?” Seven had stopped crying for the most part and was looking more confused than anything. 

_ For your skirt. I had fun. _

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but Seven smiled softly. “Anytime, Four,” she whispered. “Get better soon.”

It was getting dangerously close to bedtime so Seven was forced to leave, but she made a promise to see him again before she slipped out the door, leaving Four alone with the shadows again. For the first time, Four noticed how ominous they were, looming above him. Threatening. 

***

Even a man like Reginald was human enough to allow Four a period of healing after the hour or so of questioning forced his broken jaw out of alignment again. Or perhaps, he was annoyed enough at the inconvenience of having to rewire it that he decided to hold off further experimentation until the bone was set. He mostly ignored Four during the weeks that followed, his brief medical examinations being the extent of their interaction, and most of those were conducted by Grace anyway. Despite the horrific pain, Klaus very firmly refused any additional medication, which Reginald allowed, seeming for the moment to value increasing Number Four’s so-called ‘grit’ over the excitement of experimentation. 

His patience, unsurprisingly, ran thin. Reginald waited less than twelve hours after Four’s jaw was finally freed to announce that Four would begin regular personalized training sessions once a week in order to improve his control over his power. 

The other children looked up in surprise from their breakfasts, staring at Number Four in interest. They had, of course, already been receiving such training for several years, but their father had not shown much interest in doing so with Four in recent memory. Four, having fallen into a false sense of security in the wake of Reginald’s apparent disinterest, shrugged at them, just as surprised as anyone else. 

“You will present yourself in my office to begin your training at one o’clock this afternoon, promptly following lunch, and will continue to do as such on every Sunday,” Reginald continued, not offering any explanations to the clearly confused children that had now turned their attention to Four in interest. Four, unused to his jaw being unlocked and still in a decent amount of discomfort, said nothing. 

“Am I clear, Number Four?” Reginald raised his voice only a fraction but it was enough to make almost everyone flinch. 

Four quickly nodded.

“You will respond to me with proper respect, Number Four.” Reginald’s voice was straying into dangerous territory.

“Y⏤ yes, Sir,” Four’s voice was hoarse from disuse, cracking embarrassingly as he stuttered out his response. Two gave him a sympathetic yet somewhat guilty glance, suddenly feeling a little bad for having spent the last few weeks gloating over Four’s forced silence. 

Things soon settled after that, the tension fading back to its usual low simmer and Reginald resuming his role of lecturer with a harsh review of yesterday’s poor performance and his expectations for their training exercises later that day. Four paid less attention than usual, his mind preoccupied with wondering what it would be like to have his father’s undivided attention. His heart clenching, Four had a sinking suspicion that he’d already seen the preview. 

***

Four stumbled through the morning training exercises, his heightened clumsiness half due to being semi-out-of-practice from his reduced schedule while healing, and half because of his preoccupation. Thankfully, it was a lighter training day, as Reginald allowed them one day of “recovery” per week. Recovery being that they worked mostly on flexibility and target practice. Therefore, Four was able to avoid most of Reginald’s ire. However, he was growing more nervous as lunch drew nearer, both from the impending arrival of his first training session and in fear of Reginald’s growing look of annoyance at Four’s lack of skill or attention span. 

When noon finally came and the children were dismissed to clean up, Four made his way downstairs as slowly as he thought would be permitted. Eating was still difficult on his jaw and Four managed to force his broccoli down in tiny bites only with the knowledge that it would make things worse to anger Reginald by picking at his meal. Not permitted to talk, the other children shot sideways glances at Four throughout lunch; some, like Seven and Two, were nervous; while Five was analytical; and, in One’s case, almost jealous. As the others were dismissed for their independent training time, Six gave Four a small smile, which was most likely meant to be reassuring, but looked rather strained and fearful. Four twitched his lips back in an even worse imitation of ease, and then he was alone with Grace hovering in the corner and Reginald, staring at him from the head of the table. 

After a beat, he stood and addressed Four, “I will see you in my office in fifteen minutes, Number Four.” Without any additional instruction, he left, leaving Four slightly hunched in his seat, staring at his empty plate. 

He stayed there as Grace bustled around him, cleaning up the kitchen. There was nothing he could think to do that would prepare him for his training session with Reginald so all that he could do was wait. At twelve-fifty, Grace stopped what she was doing to place a gentle hand on Four’s shoulder. “You need to hurry,” she told him brightly, “or else you’re going to be late. We wouldn’t want to upset your father now, would we?”

Four looked at her macabre smile and whispered roughly, “No, we wouldn’t.” He walked as slowly as he could up the stairs, flinching slightly as his hand touched the handle and he was reminded of his fall. The sounds of his siblings echoing faintly in the distance until they disappeared altogether, and all that was left was the muffled sound of his shoes on the carpet. Four arrived outside of Reginald’s office at twelve-fifty-nine. Shifting awkwardly, he knocked.

***

“Enter.” Reginald was sitting behind his desk, apparently in the middle of some form of paperwork which he paused to peer down his nose at Four in vague appraisal and annoyance. “A moment later and you would have been late, Number Four.”

“So I was on time,” he responded, his brain failing, as usual, to filter what thoughts should and shouldn’t be shared. 

Reginald frowned, turning his attention to putting his work into the small briefcase that sat perched on his desk as he spoke, “Barely. I expect better next time.”

Four, relieved that the reaction wasn’t worse, simply nodded. 

“Now,” Reginald said, snapping the case shut with a definite click, “close the door and sit down.” 

Four did as he was told. Perching nervously on the edge of the chair opposite Reginald, he resisted the urge to fidget. His father observed him for a moment, his hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him. 

“Tell me, Number Four,” he began, “have you seen any more spirits since the incident in the medical room?”

“No,” he said quickly and then, seeing Reginald’s deepening look of disapproval, “Not⏤ not like that at least.”

Reginald sighed, “Please, Four, explain yourself with some level of eloquence befitting the education I that I graciously gave you.”

“I haven’t seen any real person, or talked to anyone, but...they’re always here.” Four explained hesitantly. At Reginald’s flat look he continued, “They’re there, just kind of,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “dark and misty. And it's like...a clump.” 

“The shadow,” Reginald added, something sparking behind his eyes. Four nodded. He had explained something similar when he was younger, but after attempts to materialize the spirits had failed, Reginald had become mostly uninterested in Four’s power. It appeared this breakthrough had changed that perspective. 

“Have you tried to communicate with this  _ shadow _ ?” he asked, pressing now. “To materialize it?”

Four shook his head, shrinking slightly under the harsh glare Reginald gave him. 

“Of course not,” his father muttered. “No ambition. No work ethic. No interest in anything but yourself.” He fixed Four in his gaze. “Are there spirits here now?”

Four nodded. There were always spirits, hovering the murky light of the corners, the soft mist swirling as if in its own breeze. If he paid attention to it for too long, occasionally, Four could hear something like a whisper. He didn’t like to pay attention to it for too long. 

“How many?” Reginald’s eyes gleamed.

Four shrugged, then, under a harsh glare, clarified, “I don’t know.”

“More than one?” There was a tinge of excitement in Hargreeve’s voice that was unmistaken now. 

“Yes,” Four whispered, moving forward a fraction of an inch on his chair to avoid the mist that hung behind him. 

Reginald smiled and for a moment, Four felt a lightness in his chest. Father never smiled at him. Then, seeing the hunger in his eyes, Four was reminded that it was his power that Reginald wanted, not Four. 

“Well,” Reginald said, rising. ”Come with me, Number Four.” 

He led the way silently out of the office and down the stairs. Thinking they were going to the training room to begin work, Four began to turn only to be called back by Reginald. “This way, Number Four. Pay attention.” Reginald led the way to the medical center. “From now on, you will meet me here for your training sessions.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Grace was already waiting for them, dressed in her nurse’s clothes, the little white hat perched on her perfect curls looking oddly sinister in the dim lighting. She smiled at them and it did not make Four any more assured. He felt his stomach sink as he stared at the monitors surrounding the empty bed, a perfect parody of the scene from a few weeks before. Except, he noticed with a lurch of fear, that there were now restraints fastened to the rails of the bed. 

“Lay down, Number Four,” Reginald instructed as Grace helped him into his lab coat. 

He hesitated, staring the straps that lay so innocently across the crisp white of the sheets. Behind him, the mist pressed up against his back, a soft murmur breathing against his neck. The sudden chill sent goosebumps down his arms and Four shivered. 

“Four,” there was an edge of warning in Reginald’s voice as he spoke.

Slowly, Four climbed onto the bed, laying down. He squirmed as he tried to keep from shaking, tracking his father with his eyes so that when Grace asked for his arm from just inches away, Four startled and jerked badly. He forced himself to uncurl and allow her to take his arm. She strapped it down firmly, but with great care to be gentle, patting his hand softly before moving on to his leg. 

As she finished the last buckle, Grace assured him, “You’re going to be fixed up in no time! I’m sorry we have to use the restraints, but last time you just moved around too much. I know it’s not your fault, dear, but we need you to stay still so we can give you your medicine.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Four whispered, feeling guilty for having blamed her. 

“Grace, get the monitors attached. We’re wasting time.” Reginald stood uncomfortably close to the bed and Four shifted awkwardly, wishing he could scoot away. The wires and tape were cold as they were positioned around his chest and skull. He knew enough to recognize the heart monitor once it lit up and began its regular, if slightly fast, beeps, but the lines that covered the second monitor were foreign to him. Obviously, due to the placement of the wires, it had something to do with his brain activity, but Four had no idea where to begin to understand what information it was trying to convey. A heartbeat he could understand, the inner workings of the brain, well, not so much. He watched the screen for a moment, weighing the risks, before asking, “What are we doing?”

Reginald’s mouth twitched, torn between disapproval for being questioned and the knowledge that Four did need to be informed of the basic premise of the experiment in order for it to be effective. 

“We,” he said finally, “are going to attempt communication with the spiritual realm.”

Four could have guessed that much, though it was still damning to hear it confirmed.

Reginald continued, “It seems your foolish mistake was fortuitous after all, Number Four. From what I gather, the introduction of an opioid such as morphine stimulates your powers and allows the wall between our world and that of the dead to fall, opening lines of communication. Though previously untouched in my experiments, in actuality, this development is not surprising. There is a considerable history of spiritual leaders and prophets using some form of stimulant or depressant to better channel the non-material world. It would appear that there might have been more to their practices than modern science attributes. Or, of course, it could be chance. But I do not tend to believe in chance.”

Four blinked, rather taken back the amount of information. His father was usually not one to share.  _ Relevant details only _ was the status quo of the Umbrella Academy. 

“And Four,” Reginald finished, carefully measuring the syringe, “you’ll do well to remember not to question me in the future. If there is information you need to know, I will tell you. But you must learn to follow my orders exactly or whatever we do here will be for nothing. Go beyond my control, and I cannot guarantee your safety. Understand?”

“Yes.”

The needle slid into his arm and Reginald’s face swirled in gray mist. 

***

It quickly became apparent that it was pointless to try and question Four while he was in the middle of a vision. For all of Reginald’s screaming, the voices of the dead were louder and far more frightening. Hargreeve’s orders became lost in the mass of noise as Four cried and begged to be left alone. Only by physically grabbing Four did Reginald manage to gain his attention, though it was still hard to understand, and being screamed at to calm down did nothing to help his panic. As his vision blurred, Four saw Grace reaching out, pulling Reginald away as the world went black.

When he woke, his body felt heavy and stiff like the morning after a hard physical training session. Keeping his eyes closed for a minute, Four listened around him, there were no voices that he could make out over the steady beep of machinery that sounded too loud to his aching head. Blinking heavily, the world slid back into focus. There was a rustle and Grace was suddenly standing over him. 

“Hello, Four,” she greeted him gently. “How do you feel?”

“Ugh,” he groaned, his throat straining painfully.

She laughed lightly. “You will feel better soon, Number Four. I can’t give you any more medicine right now, but I’m going to get you a drink of water, okay?” Grace didn’t wait for him to respond before she left, reappearing a moment later with a small cup. “Let me sit you up.” His bed moved under him, and Four found himself raised into an elevated position, his view of the room improving dramatically. Reginald was nowhere to be seen. He accepted the cup somewhat clumsily and Grace helped him to drink. The water soothed his aching throat surprisingly well and his headache lessened slightly. 

“What happened?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead. 

“You had another fit, Number Four,” she told him, frowning slightly, “Your father says the medicine did what it was supposed to, but⏤ “ she broke off looking confused. 

“Mom,” Four started, seeing his chance, “I’m not sick. Dad is⏤” 

“Your father is just worried about you,” Grace interrupted, smiling again. “We need to do a few more tests but before you know it, you’ll be good as new. I promise.”

Four looked at her perfect unguarded smile and trusting eyes and wondered if Grace had the capacity to feel betrayed, or if she could understand the concept. After all, she was programmed by Reginald. His desires were hers, and she could only do what he told her to. “Thanks, Mom,” he whispered finally. 

She smiled back at him widely, “Of course, Four honey, that’s what moms are here for.”

He nodded stiffly and she tucked him back in, telling him to get his rest. Exhausted from his visions and the short conversation, he fell asleep in minutes, to fall back into dreams of blood and broken bodies, begging for him to help as he begged to escape.

***

As soon as Grace pronounced Four stable enough to leave, Reginald called him to the study and questioned him thoroughly on what he saw. Ignoring the lecture on how useless the information he had been able to provide was, Four watched the other children spend their break time in the courtyard outside, the sunny afternoon light filtering garishly through the heavy curtains of the office. 

“Four!” The shout made him jump and he turned back to Reginald guiltily. 

“Sorry.”

“Are you even trying to remember your vision? Or are you content to be completely useless?”

“I’m trying,” he whispered, flinching as he ducked his head. “ I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Everyone was talking at once. I told you⏤ “ Four knew at once he had made a mistake.

“Do not take such a tone with me, Number Four,” Reginald did not raise his voice, but there was a clear danger in his low warning and Four shrank back. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“It is clear that you must gain better control of yourself⏤ you lack discipline. Perhaps that is the cause of your unsatisfactory progress in controlling your abilities. I expect to see an increase in your efforts in all aspects of training, Number Four.” His stare bore into Four. “Or there will be consequences.”

Four nodded quickly. “Yes, Sir.”

Reginald sat back and flipped open a notebook on his desk. “You are dismissed,” he told Four, waving his hand vaguely without bothering to look up. 

Four winced at the scraping sound his chair made as he stood up. Reginald sighed in annoyance but otherwise didn’t respond. Wanting to leave before his father could change his mind, Four walked as quickly as was acceptable to the door, the dark smoggy cloud of spirits billowing behind him. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And a HUGE thank you to everyone who offered their help and advice and input on this fic. I really truly appreciate all of you and if I could have every single person be my beta I would <3   
> Although I have a fantastic beta now, I still would love to hear any thoughts, critiques, and glowing praise you have to offer! (That last one is a joke lol)
> 
> I will see yall next week for chapter three!


	3. The First Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the kids become teenagers, Five disappears, and Klaus meets god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to get into the meat of the story! Yay! Things happen, siblings bond, Reginald is terrible-- what else is new. 
> 
> Many many thanks again to my beta, the wonderful, the incomparable Lionswaps  
> 

Four’s training continued in a perfectly regulated manner every week from that point. After a few months of sessions, his reaction to the drug seemed to lessen, and Four had a brief glimmer of hope that his control was improving as the shouting grew quieter. Unfortunately, it quickly became evident from the flickering and unfocused forms of ghosts that surrounded him that all that had changed was Four’s tolerance. He would have tried to hide this information from Reginald, but the man’s carefully scientific observation of Four’s training exposed the truth within a week. The dose was increased, and if Grace seemed a little absentminded over the next few days no one commented on it. 

***

Eventually, Reginald grew unsatisfied with their initial model of research. Simply hearing Four report the things he saw when he came down from his high wasn’t enough. He began pushing Four to communicate further with the ghosts. 

As the drugs took effect, Reginald pulled out a large leather-bound notebook and held his pen poised over the pages. “You may begin, Number Four.” 

Despite how many times he had done it, Four was never quite used to seeing the dead in their full forms. A man missing half of his jaw took shape out of the mist, his cheek ripped from his face, exposing ragged flesh and cracked teeth. The sight of him sent Four’s heart racing and he thrashed against the restraints, as if today might be the day that they would come undone and he would be free to run. 

“Number Four,” Reginald insisted again, his voice hardening.

The man reached out, wet gore glistening across his neck and chest. He let out a moaning, garbled sound, his tongue twisting grotesquely from behind the exposed framework of his face. His hand pushed through Four’s chest as he struggled to speak again, louder as if it might help. 

“No, no, no,” Four begged, splitting open the skin on his forearms as he tried desperately to get away, blood trickling down, staining the brown leather a muddy, rusty red.

He lost consciousness before Reginald could ask him again. 

At the next session, the restraints were better padded, though they still rubbed the tender skin of his wrists raw. 

***

When they turned thirteen, Three and Seven were told that they were permitted to use minimal amounts of makeup, as such was considered suitable for girls their age. Though of course, it was with the understanding that doing so was a privilege which could be taken away. At the news, Three beamed, her excitement barely contained. Seven gave a weak smile and murmured her thanks as was expected. 

Grace took them upstairs for a lesson while the boys were given their few practical gifts. Four examined the cassette player, meant to record any potential traces of spiritual activity he may channel while asleep and otherwise not remember when he woke. He wished dully, a tight pinching in his chest, that he was upstairs learning how to apply red lipstick and purple eyeshadow. 

Unfortunately, that night Reginald stayed up far later than he normally did, making following their birthday tradition of escaping into the outside world far too risky. Instead, the seven of them gathered in the attic space near Six and Five’s rooms and shared packages of Little Debbie cakes that they had collected in stolen moments outside. They were a poor replacement for the fresh doughnuts at Griddy’s, but enough of a treat to make the day feel special. As the hours of the night drifted away they shared stifled laughs and whispers as they passed treats between each other. Finally, their eyes grew heavy and as Seven’s head began drooping they agreed it was time for bed. Slowly stretching out on the mattresses and blankets that they’d stockpiled away, Four began the chorus in a soft, lilting voice, “Happy Birthday to us.”

The others joined in with sleepy drawls that faded into the silent night as they dropped off to sleep almost before finishing their song. 

In the early gray morning light, Four woke to stillness and the soft breathing of his siblings around him, wrappers and crumbs still sprinkled around them like fallen leaves. Turning his head to the side, he saw that Three was also awake. She watched him with half-lidded eyes and gave him a small smile. Four sat up slowly so as not to disturb Five who lay a few inches from his side, and made a gesture with his head towards the stairs. 

_ Want to go talk downstairs in our rooms?  _ He asked with his eyes.

Three nodded and carefully extracted herself from Seven’s loose grip, padding silently after him out of the attic. 

She motioned for him to go to her room, letting Four go first. He flopped down on her bed as she gently closed the door behind them. The clock on her nightstand told them they still had over an hour before they needed to get up. 

“I don’t know why I woke up so early,” Four said softly. “We only got like, four hours of sleep.”

“Me neither.” Three shooed Four over so that she could join him on the bed. 

They fell quiet, watching the world slowly brighten through the window. 

“Did you get anything fun this year?” Three finally asked. 

“Hmm? Oh, no, I didn’t.” The squirming jealous feeling crept back into his stomach as Four caught a glance of the new makeup kit that sat on Three’s dresser. 

“I’m sorry,” she winced. 

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine.” 

Three considered him carefully before saying, “You know, I don’t think that Seven was really into the whole makeup thing.” 

A flicker of annoyance shot through him at that thought of Seven having what he wanted and not even appreciating it. “Oh?” he said, not quite managing to sound bored. 

“Yeah,” Three continued, picking at her bedspread. “She admitted to me that she doesn’t really care about makeup. Not that I’m surprised, she doesn’t even like wearing her skirt. Girly stuff isn’t really her thing.”

“No, it’s not,” Klaus agreed, keeping his eyes fixed intently on the window as if that would hide his feelings. 

“But,” Three prodded, “it is kind-of...your thing?” There was a cautious lilt in her voice like Three was unsure if she would offend. 

Four finally looked at her, something like cautious excitement in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Not that you’re a girl,” Three added quickly. “But you like dresses and heels and,” she gestured vaguely, “that type of stuff.” 

“I do,” he admitted. “I guess it’s not exactly a secret.” 

Three smiled a little at that. “No, it’s not. But that’s not bad or anything. I know that Dad would never let you, but...”  
Four’s chest swelled in hope.

“If you wanted to, I could teach you what Mom taught me. With makeup I mean.” Three watched him as if unsure how her offer would be received. 

Four’s face ached with how widely he smiled. “I would love that.” 

Three grinned, grabbing his hand. “Okay, let’s start now.” Her voice grew in excitement though she kept it to a strained whisper, trying not to wake anyone upstairs. She dragged him to her vanity, pushing him down in the chair. “Okay, step one, foundation.” 

After a quick trip to Seven’s room to borrow her products that would match Four’s skin tone better, Three started guiding him through the steps that Grace had shown her, both their movements clumsy with inexperience. They passed the morning with giggles and secret-swapping as light slowly filled the room. 

Of course, Four had to wash it all away before they went down to breakfast, but as he wiped the eyeshadow off, Three promised that they would do it again soon. 

Eventually, Seven just gave her makeup kit to Four. She truly didn’t care about the practice and knew by the way his eyes lit up at her gift that Four would appreciate it much more than she ever did. Still, it didn’t stop the sharp pang Seven felt in her heart every time the two of them disappeared into Three’s room together. Telling herself she was being irrational and unfair, Seven would lift her violin to her chin and play until she couldn’t hear their peels of laughter anymore. 

  
  


***

“What do you see, Number Four?”

Four dug his nails into his palms, trying to keep himself from crying again, knowing from the last five times that it would only result in punishment. 

_ “Four, Four, Four,” _ the dead pressed down around him, a raging swirl of noise and blood and raw white bone. Through the chaos, Four searched for a point of calm, a spirit that was less angry, less mutilated. He turned his attention from one ghost to the next, passing over the woman carrying her own intestines in her arms and the teenager with thin, red lines of blood and rusty piano wire around their neck. Through the gap between two spirits, Four saw them. 

They stood in a trio, each dressed in neat immaculate dresses and vests, their hair in buns. All of them seemed about the same age, though not especially similar in looks beyond that. The first woman had a large indent in her forehead, blood running down the left side of her face. The second’s head was turned at an unnatural angle, her neck broken. The last was covered in dozens of little cuts, glass glittering from where it was stuck into her face and littered her clothing. 

They stood and watched him, saying nothing. There was something deeply familiar about them, yet unsettling, even if they did not scream at him in the same terrifying way that the others did. Four wondered if he had seen them before. If they haunted the house on more than one occasion.

“Four, what do you⏤”  
“There are three women,” he began. 

“Yes?” Reginald leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. 

Klaus described them in halting sentences, doing his best to drown out the others that still begged for his attention. 

They seemed to notice him staring and they muttered to each other, stealing dark looks at him. Slowly, they pressed closer, moving together as one.  _ “Look at what she did to us, Four,”  _ they whispered.  _ “It was her.”  _

Four shuttered and spoke faster, trying to get it over with. As he spoke, Reginald’s face darkened. 

“Are they speaking?” Hargreeves demanded.

“Yes.”  
_“Look, Number Four. You do not see what is before you. Look at her. Look at what you do not see.”_

“What are they saying?” Reginald demanded. If Four was any less distracted, he may have noticed the panic that was creeping into Hargreeves’ voice.

“Look,” he started his voice shaking, “look at what she did.”

“At what  _ who _ did?”

“I- I don’t know. Am… am I supposed to ask?”  
“ _No!_ ” 

Four looked at Reginald in surprise. He’d never been discouraged from reaching out to a spirit before. 

“You are not to speak to them!”

“What⏤”  
“Do as I order, Number Four. Those spirits are dangerous! They are not to be tampered with!”

_ “Don’t listen to him, Number Four. Look at us, see what is true, Number Four.” _

“Number Four! You are to reach out to a different spirit! Now!.”

Finally overwhelmed, Four began to cry, dissolving into hyperventilating until nothing around him made sense and the world around him faded out of existence.

As he recovered, Reginald warned Four not to attempt contact with the trio again. He didn’t explain why. 

Remembering the feeling of uneasy familiarity, the odd uncanny valley of their stares and movement, and under the fear of Reginald’s ire, Four did not argue. 

He saw them often after that, though he ignored them, leaving them hovering, mostly silent, in the corners of the room, watching over what was happening with a strange knowing stare. Four never mentioned them to Reginald again, but in his head, he named them the Fates after the painting hanging in one of the lesser-used halls of the manor. That was what they felt like to him, an ominous ever-present force, watching him and waiting to strike. It was what all the dead felt like. 

***

Though the training sessions were still draining on Four, and he had become slightly thinner and more tired over the past year, the sessions with Reginald had become more or less a part of the normal routine of life. Four began to think that they might eventually become manageable. 

Then came the day that he would later realize started his downfall, and really, the downfall of them all. 

Five disappeared. 

For a few hours, they didn’t know. Everyone, even Reginald, had assumed that Five was blowing off steam after the argument. While he hadn’t been happy about the situation, Hargreeves had thought Five would eventually return, believing, in his narcissism, that none of his children would dare to defy such explicit orders, even in extreme anger. When night fell and Five still wasn’t back, the other children began whispering between each other, a slight tinge of nerves creeping into their voices. 

“Where do you think Five is?” Three muttered, pausing next to One as they passed in the hallway.

“I don’t know,” One hesitated, frowning slightly.

“Why do you think he’s not back yet?” Six asked, coming up behind Three and making them both jump. “Sorry,” he whispered quickly.

“He’s probably still p-pissed off at Dad,” Two told him as he drew up to their little cluster, toweling off his hair from the shower. “I would be.”

“Are you guys talking about Five?” Four whispered too loudly, sticking his head out of his bedroom. He was still fully dressed, appearing to have not even started to get ready for bed like he was supposed to. Though to be fair, the others were dragging their feet too, going as slowly as they thought they could get away with, hoping that they might hear the door open at any time, Five coming back home, tired but safe. 

“Four,” One rolled his eyes, looking superior as he started to give an order. “Dad told us⏤” 

“Are you talking about Five? Do⏤ do you think something happened to him?” Seven whispered quietly from her doorway. She looked small in her nightgown, her hair hanging loosely around her face. Her bare toes worked worriedly into the carpet as she stood there, looking desperately at them.

The others looked at each other, uncertain. There was a heavy silence before One took charge, saying with false confidence, “He’s fine. He’s probably just hiding somewhere, maybe in the house even. You know he can jump anywhere. Remember that time he was missing for, like, eight hours and he turned up inside the vent in the attic? He’ll come to breakfast tomorrow when he gets hungry.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Seven said quietly, not looking reassured at all. 

  
  


Five was not at breakfast. 

The kids exchanged nervous looks, hovering by their chairs, unsure of what to do. “What are you waiting for?” Reginald barked as he came in, taking his seat at the table. “Sit.”

Their chairs scraped the floor as they hurried to comply, One managing to take his seat first. 

“Grace,” Reginald ordered. His plate, kept warm on the stove until he arrived, was placed promptly in front of him. He began to savagely stab his eggs. “Eat!” he snapped at the children still staring at him. “Training starts in thirty minutes.” Six hands were sent into motion, utensils against plates the only sound. 

There was no mention of Five for the entire day. The only indication that Reginald gave that he noticed his son’s absence was his dangerously shortened temper. 

“He’ll be hungry enough to come back by lunch,” Six whispered to Seven as he jogged past her. She gripped the clipboard she was recording their times on harder on and gave him a tight smile, nodding once. 

  
  


Five was also not at lunch.

  
  


The pattern repeated in much the same way for the next three days. Each day, Reginald became angrier and the worry lines grew deeper between the eyes of the children. At the end of the fourth day, Four closed himself quietly in his room with a bottle of cough syrup he had stolen from Grace. He lay on his bed, drinking it in quick gulps, pinching his nose against the sickly cherry flavor. Slumping back, Four closed his eyes. 

“Five,” he muttered, “I hope you’re not dead.” He swallowed clumsily, “But if you are, please talk to me.” 

The shadows that hovered in the corners of his room, began to creep across to him, splitting into their own forms. “ _ Four, Four _ .” He flinched at their mangled bodies and desperate voices, staring at them through half-lidded eyes. His head felt heavy. He tried to look through the mess of people, looking for his brother. 

“Five?” he asked, his voice slurred. The faces of the dead swam in front of him. “Five? Are you here?”

He couldn’t hear any words in the mass of voices. “Five?” he asked again, louder. There was no answer. He searched the faces that swirled around him, finding a woman who looked whole and undamaged except for the blue tinge to her lips. He forced himself to look her in the eyes. “Have you seen my brother?” he asked her, begging. “Have you seen a boy my age? Dressed in a school uniform? With shorts and a blazer? His name is Five. Have you seen him?” He couldn’t identify her voice in the crowd, but as he talked her lips stopped moving. She seemed to be listening to him, her head turned slightly to the side as if straining to hear him better. 

“Five?” he could read her lips as she repeated the name, looking confused. 

“Five!” he nodded quickly, “Have you seen him? Is he⏤ ? Is he dead?” Four waited for her response, wanting desperately to just know but hoping even more that she would say no.

Slowly she shook her head. 

Four was relieved even as he felt his last-ditch hope of finding Five die.

Reginald seemed to have the same idea the day after. At breakfast, he surprised everyone by announcing that Pogo would be supervising everyone but Four in free practice that morning. Four was to meet him for a personal training session as soon as breakfast was finished. 

Everyone stared at Four, realizing what their father’s command implied, thoughts of why Five hadn’t returned home had been an ever-present and crushing force over the past days. Four looked down at his plate, shifting uncomfortably. He hadn’t told anyone what he had done the night before. Per order, no one knew what his training consisted of, but Reginald had made it clear that Four had not made significant progress. He doubted that anyone would have believed him if he had tried to assure them that Five was still alive. Breakfast was finished in tense silence and soon the other children were filing out past Four’s chair where he still sat. 

As Seven dissipated around the corner, Four began, “Dad⏤” 

“Medical room in five minutes, Number Four,” Reginald ordered, standing and whisking out of the room.

Four gathered himself before rising to follow. 

Reginald was already dressed in his coat and gloves when Four reached the infirmary. He looked up from the syringe he was readying briefly before turning back to his work, ordering, “You know what to do.”

“Dad,” 

“Sir,” Reginald corrected. 

“Sir,” Four tried again, hesitantly, “I already tried to contact Five. I couldn’t find him. I don’t think⏤ “

“Of course you weren’t able to contact him,” Reginald interrupted. “Your control is pathetic. But I will get accurate results this time if we have to stay here until my supply is completely depleted. On the bed, Number Four.” There was something wild in Reginald’s eyes and Four let his protests die in this throat. 

“Dad?” he asked as his arms were strapped down.

“You will find your brother, Number Four,” he ordered, picking up the syringe.

“Dad⏤” Four’s protest was cut off as the needle slipped into his arm and the world began to go blurry. 

The ghosts seemed to appear more quickly than they usually did, the cloud not so much drifting into shape so much as snapping abruptly into form.  _ “Four, Four,” _ their chant began and he forced himself to ignore them even as his heart began to race. 

“Have you seen my brother?” he asked, scanning the crowd for the woman he had met last night. “Have you seen a boy named Five?” Somewhere in the crowd, he could see Reginald’s face distorted as ghosts passed through him. 

Next to the bed, a middle-aged man who bled from his empty eye-sockets tried to grab Klaus’ arm. He shuddered even though he couldn’t feel it pass through him.

“Are they here, Number Four?”

He nodded quickly, forcing himself as far back into the mattress as possible. 

“Is Five here?” 

He shook his head and Reginald’s expression flickered. He looked almost relieved before ordering, “Find him.”

“Five?” Four asked, his voice shaking. Lounder he called, “Five? Five, are you here?” The ghosts pressed closer, none of them even looking remotely like they could be the missing boy. Four looked wildly from one to another, begging, “Have you seen a boy that looks my age? Dressed like me? He has a blue jacket… Five! FIVE!” There was no response, but Four kept screaming, not even saying words anymore, until his voice went hoarse and the spirits began to blur around the edges as his high wore out. 

“He’s not here,” Four croaked to his father, who still hovered at the edge of the bed, his notes apparently forgotten as he watched Four intently. Reginald kicked the cart that stood next to the bed and Four flinched, his head pounding. 

“You’re not trying hard enough!” he accused wildly, storming to the other side of the room, out of Four’s line of sight. There was the sound of slamming drawers and rummaging before he reappeared holding another syringe. “You will keep going until you make significant contact, Number Four.”

The voices of the dead were a muffled ringing in his ears as Four tried to understand what was happening. He watched in drugged confusion as Reginald positioned the syringe against Four’s arm. “What?” he asked, dully. His head pounded as he processed the sight. He understood a second before it happened. “Dad, please⏤!” His plea was cut off as the needle sank into his arm again and Four was washed back under the harsh pull of the spiritual world. Before his vision was blocked by the bodies of the dead, Four thought he saw something that looked almost like regret on his father’s face.

It was the fourth dose that sent Four over the edge. As the morphine hit his bloodstream, he began to seize, limbs jerking violently, welts forming under his restraints. As his heart gave out, Four was unaware of the desperate scrambling around him as the monitor beeped frantically.

He woke up in an endless grassy plain, a spotless, almost white sky stretching above him. The pale gray grass was barely darker than the expanse overhead and it was nearly impossible to distinguish one from the other at the horizon line. The only color came from the red tie and piping of Four’s uniform. He sat up slowly, oddly free from the aches and pains that a long session usually left. 

The world around him was muffled, the only sounds were soft whooshing wind that swirled through the wind and his ears. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Four whipped around at the voice, startled. 

A girl around his own age stood looking at him, her head cocked curiously to one side. 

“I⏤” Four struggled to piece what was happening together. “I don’t⏤ Where am I?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re too early.”

“Early to⏤?” Four didn’t finish his question.

“Clear!”

Fire tore through Four’s chest and he sat up, his limbs having been released at some point, gasping for air. He hunched over, clutching his chest.

“Four?” Grace placed a gentle hand on his back. “You’re okay, honey.” She rubbed his back in soft comforting circles. 

“What happened?” Four finally asked, looking around as Grace eased him back down onto the pillows.

Reginald was watching him, looking unusually pale and unsettled. “Your heart stopped. We needed to give you naloxone and administer several shocks.”

Four felt oddly detached from that information. “I...died?”  
“Yes, for two minutes.” Reginald was still staring at Four, holding himself still and his eyes wide. Had he been anyone else, Four would have thought he looked scared.

“Oh.” Four didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps later it would hit him, the severity of what had happened, but right then he felt a numb indifference, as if watching a tv show he wasn’t especially invested in.

“How are you feeling?” Grace asked, putting around as she checked his pulse and the monitors. 

“Fine, I guess.” Four wasn’t sure how one was supposed to feel after dying. “Sore.”

“You’ll need to rest for a while, but everything is going to be just fine!” Grace told him cheerfully, squeezing his hand in a brief touch. She kissed his forehead lightly. 

“Thanks, Mom.” Four wondered dimly if he should be freaking out more than he was. 

“Did you see anything, Number Four?” Reginald asked, finally seeming to recover himself. His shock was gone, a calm look of scientific thrill slowly creeping into his eyes.

Four watched him carefully. Something deep inside of him whispered,  _ Lie.  _

“Number Four?” Reginald prompted again. “Did you see anything?”  
Four swallowed. “No.”

“No?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?” Reginald took up his notebook again, pushing his chair close to the bed again. 

The empty feeling in Four began to fade, replaced by a cold certainty that any concern Reginald had felt over Four’s brush with death was overthrown by his desire for experimentation and power.

“Nothing. I don’t remember a thing.”

Reginald peered at him, considering for a long beat. “Are you sure?” he finally asked, his stare reaching down to Four’s bones. 

“Yes,” Four answered firmly.

“You didn’t see Five?” he pressed.

“No. There was nothing.”

“I see.” Reginald shut his notebook with a clap. “That will be all for today, Number Four. You are permitted to rest for the rest of the day and will have reduced training responsibilities for the next few days until you are fully recovered.” 

“Okay, but are you sure that⏤”  
Reginald stood abruptly. “We will try again with modified measures,” Reginald cut him off. The monitors beeped at him and he glanced at them with a flicker of unease. Before Four could try to ask anything else, Reginald crossed quickly to the door, calling behind him to Grace, assigning her the duty of keeping watch over Four’s condition in case complications should arise. 

When it was time for her to recharge, Pogo took up the guard. He watched Four with concern and some trepidation. “Are you alright, Master Four?” he asked, taking a seat beside the bed. 

“I’m not sick,” he croaked. 

“I know.”

He took a small sharp gasp. “You know?”

“I am aware… of your training, yes.”

“You know what happened today?” he asked, a hand squeezing around his heart. 

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to help me,” Four realized even as he spoke. 

“Master Four, your father knows best, I am sure he was only concerned for the wellbeing of your brother⏤”  
“I died.”

Pogo flinched. 

“But you’re not going to help me.” His voice was hollow as he fixed Pogo in his red, bruise-ringed eyes. 

Pogo bowed his head, perhaps in shame. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This may be a controversial opinion... but I don't like Pogo? Like I just feel like he was really complicit in Reggie's abuse. He may have felt indebted to him, but he still took part in some highly questionable actions that were NOT okay. I don't see my portrayal of him as "bashing" because although I don't think he WANTS to hurt the kids, I also believe Pogo really would stand by and let Hargreeves do just about anything, no matter how dark things got. But if it bothers you, Pogo isn't in the story a ton and most of his "villainy" is being passive while Reggies fucks the kids over. Fair warning for any Pogo stans.*
> 
> Also, please let me know if there are any additional tags or warnings that you want to make sure that I cover. I am trying to give a heads up for anything not covered by the general warnings of the story but if I fail to take something into account please do not hesitate to tell me and I will fix it. Much love to you all <3
> 
> Finally, thank you so much for reading!  
> I would love you forever if you leave a comment <3


	4. Lost and Found Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of giving drugs to a child start to become very clear, Diego has daddy-related angst, and Ben, as always, does his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks again to my wonderful beta!!!!! Check out their tumblr at [artswaps](https://artswaps.tumblr.com/) !!!

The children were lined up for morning inspection in the courtyard, standing at military attention. Reginald walked up and down the line, keeping an eagle eye out for ties a millimeter out of place or a scuff on a shoe. When he was satisfied, he took a step back, Seven falling to his side. He motioned for them to stand at ease before addressing them, his back straight and his face impassible. 

“I have decided that it is time to officially declare Number Five as Missing In Action. Furthermore, due to the lack of leads and the abundance of more pressing issues, the search for him you have all been conducting must come to an end.. At this point, it is most likely that Number Five will not be found by your efforts.”

Seven’s clipboard fell out of her suddenly limp fingers as Two jerked like he’d been physically struck. There was a long silence as they all stared at Reginald, trying to comprehend what they’d been told. 

“What?” Four was the first to recover, his voice cracking.

Reginald gave him a warning glance and continued, “Really children, this should not come as a shock to you. You are all very much old and experienced enough to understand what such prolonged radio silence means.”

“But,” Three protested, sounding upset and confused, “we haven’t finished our search. We haven’t even⏤” 

“I have conducted my own search, Number Three,” Reginald told her severely. “And⏤”

“And Five isn’t dead,” Four interrupted him. All attention snapped to him, the children’s expressions ranging from surprise to hope. Reginald’s was of grave disapproval and bubbling anger. Four stared him down, feeling concerningly unaffected. 

“We’ve been trying to contact Five for weeks, and haven’t heard a peep. I’ve talked to every freaking spirit within a fifty-mile radius of this house since Five disappeared and none of them have seen or heard anything about a dead boy in a uniform. He. Is. Not. Dead.” Four’s voice shook with barely suppressed emotion as he stared his father down, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of his siblings.

“As usual, Number Four, you fail to examine the entirety of the matter. It is true that it does not appear that Number Five is a spirit inhabiting this time and place, but that says very little about what might be occurring in others.” 

Five heads, previously staring at Four, whipped back to Reginald so fast it was surprising no one pulled a muscle. 

Reginald continued, “You all know as well as I that Five was recklessly drawn to attempting time travel, something that I warned him he was not ready for as you will remember. It is highly possible that Number Five attempted to jump through time and was unsuccessful, thus killing himself in the process, ripped apart by the fabric of space and time.”

The shocked faces of the remaining Academy members were staring at him, pale and wide-eyed. Seven began to cry as she repeated, “Ripped apart?”

Reginald blinked as if realizing what he’d said was inappropriate and allowed, “Though it is possible that Five was killed in his attempt to jump through time, it is also possible that he succeeded in traveling somewhere and became stuck, unable to travel back.”  
“If he’s stuck somewhere we have to find him!” One had recovered from his shock in the wake of a potential mission. 

“Quiet, Number One.”

One snapped his jaw shut with a click.

“To track Number Five through the entirety of time and existence would be an impossibly mammoth task, even if the technology to do so existed, which it does not,” he directed the warning at Two, who had opened his mouth to speak, before addressing the rest of them again. “As such, the question of possibility is beside the point. There is no way for us to locate where in the entirety of space and time he landed, much less travel there to rescue him. Hence, why we must stop the search. If Number Five is still alive, which regardless of what you may believe, I do hope that is the case, it will be up to him to find his own way home.” 

The quiet stretched long and heavy before Four spoke. “So that’s it? We’re just...giving up?” The heavy weight of failure sank over his shoulders.

“To recognize the fruitlessness of one’s endeavors is not ‘giving up’, it is making a rational decision based on factual evidence. Yes, the active search for Number Five must come to an end, due to the undeniable reality that to continue is pointless. The evidence suggests that he is not anywhere in the city nor even this time.” 

The memory of Five’s declaration that he was ready to time travel, and the implication that he could have in some way succeeded, startled the children as their train of thought caught up to Reginald’s speech. With a sickening dread, they realized that his instance that their efforts were in vain may well be true. 

“Furthermore, to persist in this endeavor will only serve as a distraction and a depletion of our resources. It is time that the Academy focuses on the more pressing and important matters of what can actually be resolved, rather than a foolish and self-indulgent search. Our best hope is to wait either for time to catch up to the moment that he jumped to, or for him to figure out how to jump back to the proper time.”

“More important?” Two spoke quietly, but there was a thread of danger in his voice as he looked at his father. “What is possibly  _ more important _ than finding our brother?”

“Restrain yourself, Number Two,” Reginald warned, “You know very well the threats and dangers that the Academy combats on a regular basis and how vital it is that⏤”

“You don’t care, do you?” Two spoke so quietly he could barely be heard, his voice cracking open with sudden loss and broken grief as he realized the truth. 

“What did you say, Number Two?” Reginald demanded, his tirade cutting off. 

“You d-don’t⏤” 

“What did I tell you about the stuttering?” Reginald snapped, annoyed.

Two opened his mouth to respond but then snapped it shut with a click. His jaw worked in anger even his eyes began to well with frustrated tears. Before Reginald could reprimand him again, Two turned on his heel and bolted. 

“Number Two! Come back here now!”

It was too late, Two was gone. 

“Laps, now!” Reginald snarled, stalking towards the building.

“You heard Dad,” One said finally, sounding less assured of his order than he had in a long time. 

“But⏤” Three began.

“Laps! Now!” Reginald’s rage sent them to their feet in a rapid scramble.

  
  


Training was made brutal that day by a combination of Reginald’s anger and their worried distraction, wondering where Two was and if he would come back. As dark came and there was no sign of him, their fear turned to true terror as an echo of what happened only weeks before played out before them. Despite eating no more than a few bites at breakfast and having trained through lunch, no one was hungry at dinner and Reginald’s threats were not enough to make anyone eat more than a few bites. 

They were sent to bed hours earlier than usual but there were no protests. Quietly, they moved around each other, washing up and getting into pajamas. It took thirty minutes of lying and staring at the ceiling for Three to give up on sleep and go to One’s room, almost bumping into Six as he made his way to Four’s, who opened his door as they were all muttering apologies. The three of them looked at each other in turns before Four muttered, “I’ll get Seven and meet you in One’s.” With quick nods, they went ahead.

One was sitting up in his bed, frowning. At the entrance of Three and Six, he moved back, pulling his legs up to make room. A minute later, Four and Seven joined them. One’s narrow bed was cramped with five teenagers, but no one complained as arms and legs bumped up against their own. 

“Do you think…?” Three asked, her voice trailing off as the possibilities overwhelmed her. 

“I don’t know,” One admitted. 

“He’s going to be fine,” Six said firmly, squeezing Seven’s hand as her face crumpled. 

“Two’s tough,” Four added, assuringly. “You’ve seen him in training, he can take care of himself.”

“So could Five,” she responded.

No one knew what to say to that. They stayed together, mostly quiet, long into the night until a sound down the hall snapped them to attention. 

“What⏤ ?”

“Shh,” One ordered, standing. 

They held still, listening to the muffled thumping intently, then, “Ow, crap.”

“Two!” Four vaulted off the bed followed closely by the others. It was the first race he’d ever won, bursting into the bedroom seconds before the rest. Two jumped as the door banged off the wall, his hand going to his knife before his brain caught up with what he was seeing.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, relaxing, “You guys scared me.”

“WE scared YOU?” Three was indignant. “You just storm out of here, after fighting with Dad and  _ go missing _ for  _ hours _ and now you have the nerve to say that WE. SCARED. YOU?” 

Two winced. “Crap. I’m sorry, I just⏤” 

“Just don’t do it again,” Six said, quickly crossing the room and wrapping Two in a tight hug. 

Seven joined them with such enthusiasm they stumbled even from her tiny frame.

“Or we’ll kick your ass,” Four added, stretching his arms around the three of them. 

Two laughed and Three warned, “Seriously,” even as she hugged them too. One didn’t say anything, just awkwardly leaned against the group, even his arms, the longest of any of theirs, not able to wrap all the way around the group. 

When they woke up the next morning, stiff from sleeping in awkward positions, crammed on the small single bed and overflowing onto the floor, no more was said about the night before. But, for a few days at least, they managed not to fight. 

***

No one knew exactly what Reginald did to punish Two for his outburst and disappearance, but the resulting arch that cut across his right skull and cheek remained there as an uneasy reminder of that day long after it healed into a white scar.

***

Not long after Reginald called off the search for Five, he attempted to cut back on the number of _ training sessions _ that Four was required to undertake. However, it quickly became evident that, in his desperation and impatience, Reginald had made a dangerous- and what should have been an obvious- mistake. Subjecting Four, a boy barely in his teens, to daily doses of opioids had quickly led to the fledgling development of a dependence. 

On his first day off in almost eight weeks, Four was unable to enjoy his free time and instead spent hours lying on his bed, aching and sweating but unable to sleep, feeling anxious for a reason he was unable to name. By the next morning, he was so pale and obviously unwell that even Reginald allowed him to skip training. When the vomiting started, Grace took him down to the infirmary, fixing him up on an IV that took even her six tries to insert, unable to find a vein that was healthy enough. 

Grace must have summoned Reginald at some point, though Four was rather out of it and couldn’t actually remember that happening. All he knew was that, after hours of sweating and draining his body of anything Grace tried to feed him, Reginald appeared over him, a single crease between his brows. Vaguely, Klaus was aware of his IV being messed with, but almost immediately a sweet wave was washing over him and the relief was enough that the sudden appearance of the dead woman, her pretty face marred by pox, didn’t frighten him at all. The dipping lull of her voice sounded something like a lullaby and tired as he was, Four didn’t question how he could understand her when the words were in a language he had never heard before. 

When he woke, feeling exhausted but far better, Reginald had informed him dully that their training sessions were to continue after all, with further modifications as it was apparent that Four was _ unable to manage himself in a satisfactory manner. _ If Four hadn’t been in a state of dazed half-consciousness, he might have noticed the way that Reginald didn’t quite meet his eyes, or the way his voice lacked some of its usual steel. Instead, Four’s mind wandered back to spot where the ghost of the woman had been, now vacant. For a moment, it had seemed as if her cool hand had brushed against the burning skin of his right in a strange echo of Grace’s hand on his left.

***

In an unusual turn of events, Four was early for his training session with Reginald and turned the corner towards the med-bay just as the door opened, and Six stumbled out, his front splattered in fresh red blood. 

“Holy, shit!” Four rushed to his side. “Six, are you okay? What happened?” 

“Four,” Six tried to interrupt.

Not registering now normal his voice sounded, Four clutched Six’s arms as he tried to look into his eyes. “Dad!?” Panic was rising in his voice as Four tried to find the source of the blood. 

“Four!” Six said again, louder. Four went quiet, staring at him with huge eyes. ‘I’m fine,” Six told him gently. 

“What?” Four’s heart was pounding in his ears as he went from full panic to confusion, adrenalin still pumping wildly through his veins. 

“It’s not mine,” Six was calm as he carefully pulled himself away from Four. “It was just a training thing.  I bumped my head. That’s it. Dad was just checking to make sure I didn’t do any damage. But I’m fine.” 

“What?” Four was lost. “What the fuck kind of⏤”

“Four,” Reginald appeared in the doorway, dressed in a freshly pressed and immaculate suit. “You are wasting time with matters that do not concern you. If you continue to argue, you will make yourself late to your own training session. You know that I will keep you an extra five minutes for every minute you make me wait. Do you want to add that time, Number Four?”

“No, sir,” Four murmured, his eyes flicking down. 

“I thought not,” Reginald nodded sharply. He stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. “Let us begin. Number Six, you are dismissed. Go clean yourself up.” 

Six nodded and slipped away out of sight, leaving small red drips on the carpet behind him. 

With one last glance back at him, Four entered the med-bay. As Reginald strapped him down and prepped the needle, Four risked one question. “What happened to Six?” 

Reginald paused for a split second before tightening the strap around Four’s wrist painfully. “That, Number Four, does not concern you. You will do well to remember that it is your own training that you ought to focus on. Seeing how poor your control over your abilities is, the attention would not be misplaced. Is that clear?” he asked, his hand wrapped firmly around Four’s forearm, hard enough that he would surely leave marks in the shape of his fingers. 

Four nodded, “Yes, sir.” 

“What happens in a team member’s personal training is not to be shared before I determine it is appropriate to do so. When your powers finally progress to anything better than absolutely pitiful, I will inform the Academy. Your siblings mastered more than this at age seven. Do you wish for them to know how behind you are?”

“No, sir,” Four whispered, shame burning hot in his chest. 

“As I thought.” Reginald let go of his arm to prep a needle. __

Four swore he could feel the drug itself spread through his veins, warm energy pulsing out from the injection sight in his arm. The veil that hid the plain between life and death fell away, the force of the spirits that inhabited the space broke forth. Their power and number overwhelmed Four and he was drowning in the current even as Reginald pressed on with questions that none of the dead cared to answer. 

***

As it turned out, the padding that Reginald had added to the restraint didn’t matter much. In the darkest moments, Klaus still trashed against them hard enough to split the skin. Eventually, his wrists and arms became a twisted map of scars. Reginald didn’t say anything about uniform protocol when Klaus started wearing wide leather bracelets to cover them.

***

Since Reginald had announced almost six months previously that the search for Number Five was to be suspended, there had been no official recognition of his loss, or mention of his name,  _ number,  _ by their father. The portrait appeared over the fireplace almost exactly three months after Five disappeared, his cold stare accusing them as they passed. They all avoided his gaze that did nothing to capture his wry sarcasm or the excitement that would light up his entire face when he was talking about the new equation he’d been working on. Only by looking at the dull gleam of the oil paints could Six imagine his brother being dead. It made his stomach twist from something that wasn’t the Horror but came close in name. 

It was the same feeling that he got when looking at Four, who, over the past months, had grown thinner, paler, and most concerning, quieter. As aware of the changes to Number Four as he was, the appearance of the painting, and his father’s unfeeling statement that implied his brother was most likely dead, were distracting enough that it took Six almost two days to register that there was something strange stuck in Four’s right arm. Though to be fair, the Academy uniform did require long sleeves.

“Six,” Four had appeared in the door of his bedroom, half an hour from lights out, “have you seen Seven’s rosin? It’s in a little box about this big,” he demonstrated with his fingers and Six noticed the flash of blue plastic against Four’s pale arm, exposed by the t-shirt he was wearing. 

“What’s on your arm?”

Four’s eyes widened and he quickly tucked his hand behind himself, as if Six would forget about it if he couldn’t see it anymore. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He studied his left arm intently. 

Four was many things, but he was not a good liar. 

“Four.”

He grimaced, giving up. “It’s nothing,” Four mumbled, not looking at him. 

“Then it’s not a big deal if I look at it,” Six reasoned, getting out of bed. He crossed to Four and stuck out his hand, palm up, waiting. 

With a sigh, Four slowly brought his arm from behind his back. “It’s nothing,” he repeated, shifting from foot to foot.

Looking at it, Six knew it wasn’t ‘nothing’, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was either. He told as much to Four, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, Six, if you’re going to interrogate me, at least know what you’re talking about.” He softened after a beat, losing the hard, annoying edge he’d been building up. “It’s an IV port. For when you have to have so many injections that they just leave a little plastic tube in there so you don’t have to get stuck every time.”

Now that he mentioned it, Six could see dozens of little pinpricks peppering Four’s elbow, almost unnoticeable if one wasn’t looking for them. “Jesus, Four,” he echoed. “Why the hell do you have an  _ IV port _ in your arm? Are you sick?” Taking in his waxy complexion and bruised eyes, it seemed like a plausible and frightening explanation for the inexplicable changes he’d seen in Four over the past months. 

“No,” the answer gave only a split second of relief, “I’m not sick.”

“Then⏤?” 

Four squirmed under his gaze, taking his arm back and cradling it awkwardly against his body. 

“Four?”

“You,” he started slowly, “you know how Dad said I need ‘extra help’ with accessing my powers?” he stole a quick look at Six, begging him to understand with his eyes.

“Dad’s…” Six’s thoughts whirled as he began piecing things together, “injecting you with something? So...so you can access your powers? I don’t understand what⏤”

“Found it!” Seven’s voice called from the stairs as she hurried up to them. She trotted up behind Four, who took a few quick steps away from Six, trying to look innocent and relaxed. Seven didn’t appear to notice she’d interrupted anything as she smiled and added, “It was in the living room. I forgot it down there before dinner. Thanks for helping me look, Four.”

“Anytime,” he forced out, his hand clamped over the port on his arm. “Well, I’m beat, see you tomorrow.” He brushed past Seven and made a beeline for the stairs. Below them, they could hear the sound of his bedroom door closing behind him.

Seven deflated slightly, looking at Six with worry. “Did I do something?” she asked mournfully. 

“No, you’re fine. It was me, I⏤” he broke off, searching, “I teased him about falling during training today.”

“Oh,” Seven looked relieved and then concerned, “I don’t think he was hurt, but Two already was making fun of him all afternoon, he’s probably just sensitive about it right now. I’m sure if you apologize tomorrow he’ll forgive you.”

“Yeah, thanks, Seven. You’re right. I should have laid off him. I guess I’m just tired and cranky.”

“Oh, okay,” she whispered, starting out of the room. “Sorry I bothered you!” she squeaked, quickly retreating to her room. 

“Seven⏤” he flinched.  _ Crap,  _ Six thought,  _ now he had to apologize to two people tomorrow.  _

Seven, of course, forgave him by breakfast. Or rather, she insisted that there was nothing to forgive and everyone got tired sometimes and it really wasn’t a big deal⏤ he didn’t even yell at her or anything. Still feeling bad but letting it go, Six spent the rest of the morning attempting to corner Four, who was surprisingly good at avoiding people when need be, despite his less-than-impressive scores in stealth training. 

Finally, he cornered Four as he was coming out of the bathroom, still drying his dripping wet hair in a towel and unable to make a quick getaway. 

“What is Dad injecting you with?”

Four stared at him, a deer in the headlights, before he forced an easy smile, waving his hand dismissively. “Really? You’re still on that, Six?” He tried to brush past him, but Six grabbed his arm, right above where the port lay. 

“ _ Still on that _ ? Of course, I’m  _ still on that _ , Four! Dad is  _ injecting _ you with⏤” he gestured wildly, “something!” Four started to speak, but Six cut him off quickly, “And don’t tell me that it is nothing, or that I don’t need to be worried because that is⏤” he hesitated before whispering, “ _ crap _ .” 

“But it’s the truth, Six. You really don’t have to be so worked up⏤”  
“Bullshit!”

Four’s’ eyes widened. Six hardly ever raised his voice to a normal speaking level to be heard in a conversation, much less to swear at someone. Realizing he wasn’t getting out of the situation, Four closed his eyes to avoid Six’s stare and admitted, “Pain meds.”

Six had been expecting some strange concoction of Reginald’s own making or some kind of mystically grotesque substance, like blessed cremated remains⏤ he wouldn’t put it past his father. And if Four could talk to the dead then anything was possible. He hadn’t been expecting something so... pedestrian. “What?”

“Pain meds.”

“Wh—?”

“He realized what effect they had on me after I broke my jaw that one time.”

“Wait, when we were twelve?” 

Four nodded.

“So, Dad has been giving you, what,  _ morphine  _ on a regular basis since we were  _ twelve? _ ”

Four shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Isn’t that... incredibly dangerous?”

Four shrugged again.

“You seem too calm about this,” Six stared at Four who sat perched on his bed, watching his brother like Six’s shock was exhausting him. 

“I’ve had a couple of years to adjust,” Four told him blandly. At the look of guilt that flickered across Six’s face, he added, more gently, “I’m not mad at you.”

“You should be. Fucking hell, Four—”

“Thank you for your outrage, Six,” he laughed, “but really, is this a shock to you?”

“That Dad has been  _ drugging you  _ for two years?”

“Honestly, yes? Six, Dad uses our sister as his personal brainwash tool to strip away people’s free will, forced us to take turns wearing padding and an actual target on our back so Two can practice hitting something that’s moving, and he once left the six of us alone in Queens to find our way back home— when we were  _ eleven _ . The man has procured animals in varying sizes for you to practice ripping apart with your stomach tentacles.”

Six paled, “How⏤?”  
“I’ve seen the remains,” he said dismissively. Their twisted bodies had once been carted out by Pogo just as Four arrived down stairs for his own training session. Four had realized then why Six was covered in blood that day in the med-bay. “We don’t even have names, _Six_. And some illicit drug use is where you draw the line? I’m not sure I would rank this in the top ten questionable things that darling _Reggie_ has done in his life.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Six whispered.

Four snorted bitterly. “What are you going to do about it?”

Six floundered, “I—”

“Sorry,” Four winced. “That wasn’t meant to be mean. Thank you, Six, really,” Four held up a hand to stop him. “I appreciate the concern and all, but don’t make promises that you can’t keep.” He slipped past Six who stood dejected and limp, his face pinched in worry and perhaps a little rejection. “It’s nothing against you, Six,” he added gently, pausing in his bedroom doorway to glance back at Six, “I just know that with good ol’ Dad, there isn’t any point.” 

He left Six alone in the hallway with that. The next time they would really talk about it, Six would be dead. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!!! 
> 
> This chapter is a tiny bit on the shorter side but next week will be very long so it's all going to work out in the end. Pinkiest swear. 
> 
> I love to hear any thoughts and feedback that you may have <3


	5. What's In A Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children spend their first birthday without Five, Grace gives them a present, and a special guest star makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome back!! This is one of my absolute favorite chapters in large part due to the help of my AMAZING beta [artswaps](https://artswaps.tumblr.com/) who made some very smart suggestions.
> 
> so like no pressure but if you don't love it I will cry...
> 
> jk lmao
> 
> *In the great tradition of people trying to sound smart and literary-ish, I am justifying the lame title of this chapter with "Shakespeare"

On October first, there were no hushed whisperings of excitement or _“Happy Birthday”_ as the children slowly got ready upstairs. They nodded sharply to each other as they passed to and from the bathroom, silently reaching out to straighten a collar or fix a tie. No one pounded on the door when Three took an extra fifteen minutes to do her makeup; they were all put-together enough by then anyway. Yet, no one had gone downstairs yet to talk to Grace and wait for breakfast in the kitchen as they might usually do. Instead, they hovered just outside their doors in the hallway, shifting awkwardly as they waited. When Three emerged from the bathroom, her eyes red and wearing not so much as mascara, they didn’t say a word. 

One spoke quietly, “It’s ten to seven, we should go downstairs.” There was a general nod of agreement and they filed slowly down the hall. If there was a muffled sniff, no one acknowledged it.

“Good morning, children!” Grace greeted, smiling wide and warm. “Happy Birthday!” A few faded streamers hung from the light above the table, which was decorated by a rare vase of sunflowers, their yellow cheer awkward in the thick air.

They stared at her, looking lost and young until Two finally whispered, “Th-thanks, Mom.” 

She beamed at them, turning back to the last of her preparations as each of them took their seats. The scrape of chair legs sounded too loud. “I’m making something extra fun!” Grace continued brightly, glancing over her shoulder. “Special permission as a Birthday Treat.”

A year ago, Four would have pressed her on what _something special_ was. For as long as he had understood the concept of what a birthday was supposed to be like, Four had been begging Reginald for a cake. But as he stared at the empty seat that once belonged to Five, Four nearly choked, imagining the sweet frosting coating his throat like medicine. 

“That sounds great, Mom,” Seven said quietly, breaking Four from his thoughts. The weak smile Seven managed to give Grace disappeared as Reginald entered. He seemed distracted, not glancing up at them as he took his seat at the head of the table. A moment later, his plate was set in front of him, a smiley-face staring up at him made of waffles, bacon, and eggs. He blinked dimly at it for a moment before stating, “Dry toast and coffee will be sufficient for today Grace.” 

Her smile wavered for a moment. “A filling, healthy and nutritious breakfast is key to⏤” 

“Grace!” his voice was sharp as he cut her off and the children jumped. He deflated slightly, continuing in a more quiet tone, “Just dry toast and coffee. I will manage for one day, I am an adult. You are here to mind the children.”

“Of course.” If Grace were human, Six might have thought her cheerful voice might have sounded too tight. To Two, at least, the hurt she was covering up was obvious. 

Grace moved Reginald’s plate in front of One and doubled back to the stove, quickly starting the toast before returning with the coffee and a second plate of food for Two. By the time Six and Seven were served, the toast had been finished and cut into neat triangles. As Reginald began picking at the bread, he glanced up from his paper he’d been staring at absent-mindedly and noticed the way they were all staring at him. 

“You may begin,” he told them, half permission and half order. Most of their gazes dropped but Four stared at Reginald a beat longer, while Six stole a glance at Four until he turned his eyes to the plate in front of him and Six followed suit. There was silence as everyone picked at their breakfast, One taking small bites, each minutes apart; Three nibbling crumbles off the edge of her bacon; while Six pushed segments of waffle around, making swirls in his syrup. Seven cut her food into progressively smaller bites and Two poked his egg ‘eyes’ with his fork until one of the yolks broke, spilling yellow tears. Four didn’t bother to pretend he was making an effort, staring blankly down at his plate, the breakfast grin making his stomach turn sickeningly.

After ten minutes or so, Reginald seemed to notice. He sighed, letting his half-eaten piece of bread fall back onto his plate with a quiet _plink._ He watched them for a moment before speaking, his voice unusually measured and calm for such a sign of disobedience. “Children,” he began and their attention snapped to him, waiting. “There is an administrative issue that requires my complete attention today. I will be in my office and should not be disturbed for anything less than a dire emergency. Pogo will oversee your training practices this morning, I expect you to do your daily warmups and then work individually on the control and implementation of your powers.” His gaze caught Four’s for a moment before he looked away. “You will have this afternoon off to rest and do as you wish. At that time, Grace will give each of you your birthday gift.”

Quick glances of surprise and confusion were passed between the children as Reginald paused. Hargreeves did not do birthday gifts⏤ or at least, not gifts without any practical application, and those Reginald always gave himself, along with expectations for how they should be used. “Finish your breakfast,” he ordered, standing. Reginald left the room, his toast missing only a few bites and his coffee untouched. 

A handful of them managed a few bites before giving up. One put his fork down in defeat and stood, the rest of the children rising almost in unison with him. As the others slowly made their way upstairs, Six hung back, waiting for Four who trailed a few steps behind. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, searching Four’s purple-ringed eyes with concern, remembering the muffled noises he’d heard last night, and the strong scent of something harsh that had clung to Four that morning as he brushed past Six on his way to the toilet. 

“As much as you are,” he answered, blinking tiredly. It would have been enough for Six to believe it if he hadn’t noticed the way Four’s right hand twitched towards the port on his left.

“Four⏤” he started, but his brother brushed past him, following the others up the stairs, the sound of his footsteps already muffled with distance. Without the energy to argue, Six followed. 

Although significantly calmer and more patient than their father, Pogo was ultimately most loyal to Reginald and would follow his orders completely when asked, no matter how much he disagreed. However, he was lax with their training requirements that morning, giving Four no more than a half-hearted chiding when he claimed a twisted ankle five minutes into running stairs and promptly flopped down on the landing to “rest his injury”. Pogo didn’t even make him get up. And, after Two missed the bullseye for the third time in a row, nearly decapitating One in the process, Pogo let them go to lunch an unprecedented forty minutes early.

They trooped upstairs to wash off in a loose clump, quiet. Though growing more independent from each other by the minute, today it felt strange to not be together, nearly within arm’s length at any given moment, though never quite touching. On the trip back to the kitchen, fresh uniforms in place and hands washed, One whispered, mostly to Three but, in the close proximity, loud enough for even Seven who took up the back to hear, “What do you think the present is?”

“I don’t know,” she answered in the same low tone. “I just… don’t really care right now,” her voice was flat, the waver that had been there that morning gone to exhaustion. 

“Bet it’s a new Number Five,” Two muttered, a bite of anger at the edges of his harsh whisper. Everyone stopped, hovering between two floors as they turned to look at him. 

“That’s not funny, Two!” Seven’s voice broke as she protested before One had the chance.

Number Two looked guilty for a moment before he added, “I know it’s not, it’s just true.”

“You know how Dad loves a complete set,” Four added, trying for boredom and instead sounding bitter.

“Both of you, cut it out!” One ordered, still keeping his voice low, “Can’t you see you’re bothering Seven?”

They glanced back at their sister, whose eyes had gone wide and watery, and were both immediately cowed. The tension deflated.

“Sorry, Seven,” Two muttered, looking away.

“Sorry,” Four echoed. 

No one spoke again until they reached the kitchen, each taking their seats in silence, muttering only a quick thanks as Grace set a plate down in front of each of them. 

“Your father is too busy to join us today,” she told them brightly, “you can just tuck in right away.”

Lunch passed in much the same way that breakfast had, with the children picking listlessly at their meal, chewing mechanically as the food that they knew to be wonderful turned to ash in their mouths, their appetite non-existent. 

The most anyone managed was half a sandwich and a few apple slices, but Grace relented and let them be done all the same. “Now, I’m going to clean up,” she told them, “but when I’m done, I’m going to come and give each of you your present. Just wait for me in the living room.” 

Grace seemed more excited about their gift than any of them, and Four thought dully of how different it would have been last year if Reginald had hinted at a mysterious birthday present⏤ one that hadn’t been used by some ancient civilization to channel their dead ancestors or some crap like that. 

“Four,” One called from the doorway, “come on.” The others had left the table already. He blinked and followed One.

Everyone was in the living room by the time One and Four arrived. Seven, Three, and Six perching awkwardly on the sofa while Two shifted from foot to foot, his gaze occasionally flicking to the portrait over the fireplace. 

“What do you think⏤” 

“Seven, nothing has changed in the last thirty seconds, I still don’t know what our present is and I have no ideas.”

“I was going to ask Three,” she whispered quietly. 

“I don’t know eith⏤”

“Ready, children?” 

Everyone jumped, turning to the sound of Grace’s voice in the doorway. She smiled broadly at them, her empty hands clasped in front of her. They nodded slowly, their eyes wide. One and Two each took a chair and the others scooted over so there was room for Four to squeeze onto the sofa next to Six. Grace stood in front of them, Five staring over her shoulder. 

“Your father has decided to do something special for your birthday this year. In addition to the practical gifts that he will give to you later, you are each to receive something very special today.”

Despite their earlier apathy, the strangeness of the situation had piqued their interest and they were hanging on her every word with bated breath. Four’s shoulders tensed and he leaned forward slightly in anticipation.

“Today, each of you will be receiving a name.” 

There may have been a gasp or two but Four wasn’t sure who had made the noise, he was staring at Two, who was switching between staring at Mom and at the portrait. No one said anything for a long moment, quick glances shared rapid-fire around the room from Two, to the painting, to each other, to the painting, to Two, to Mom. 

Finally, Two spoke, everyone’s attention snapped to him. “Dad decided n _-now_ that we get to have names? Why, because he realized for once that I was right? That he can’t just, just label us like we’re some freak science experiment? Did he just find out that we’re humans?”

“Diego, dear,” Mom spoke softly, trying to interrupt his rant, but he pulled away, starting to make for the door. 

“Forget it, I don’t want any stupid name from that asshole.” Two froze, his brain catching up with his ears. “What?” his voice cracked as he turned back to her. “Di⏤” 

“Diego,” Mom whispered, her voice so careful and warm⏤ like she was talking him off of the ledge. 

“Diego,” his lips moved around the word silently and his eyes looked glossy in the low light of the living room before his face hardened again. “Like I said, I don’t want any name that comes from _him_.” 

“Your father didn’t pick your names, Diego,” Mom continued quietly, gently, as she walked towards him. “I did. And I would love it if you would accept my name for you.” 

Two’s eyes were wide, staring at her. “You⏤?”

She nodded, “Yes, Diego. Is it okay if I call you that, sweetheart?” Her perfect face fell for a moment in concern as she carefully cupped his cheek and Two nodded quickly.

“Yeah, Mom, I want you to call me that. Diego. Call me Diego. My name is Diego.” The quiet wonder that leaked into his voice made Diego sound much younger than he had moments before while railing in anger against Reginald. Still moving in a daze, he accepted the hug that Grace offered him. 

As he sunk back into his chair Diego added, “I’m sorry for interrupting, Mom. And everyone,” he tacked on, glancing at them guilty. 

“It’s okay,” Seven whispered, her eyes still a little too wide.

Four sank back into his own seat with a small nod.

“We forgive you, T⏤ _Diego_ ,” One allowed, “Now, let everyone else get their name too, that is, assuming that everyone else wants one.” He looked around and the others nodded quickly. 

“Thank you, Luther,” Grace said smiling. 

Luther blinked in surprise. “Luther,” he repeated. He contemplated the name for a moment before nodding tightly. “Thank you, Mom.”

She smiled and turned to Seven, crouching down slightly so that their faces were level. “And thank you too, Vanya. You’re very understanding. Just like your name claims, you are _gracious.”_

Vanya smiled wide and watery, “Thank you, Mom.”

Going down the couch, looking at them each in turn, she said, “And your name, Number Three, is Allison.”

“Allison,” she repeated seriously, nodding. “I like it.”

“I’m so glad,” Mom grinned at her, continuing to Six. “Your name is Benjamin.”

He nodded slowly, quiet as he thought about it for a long moment before saying, “Could⏤ could I⏤” he hesitated, not looking at her. 

“What is it, honey?”

“Could I maybe be _Ben_?”

Her smile broke out like the sun from behind clouds as she squeezed his hand to comfort. “Of course, darling. Ben.”

Ben returned her grin shyly, “Thank you, Mom.”

“Finally,” Grace said, turning to Four, “You, Number Four, your name is Klaus.”

Klaus took the name in, turning it over in his mind, “Klaus,” he whispered, examining the way the sharp k turned rounded and soft. It reminded him of _cloud._ Floating away, formless, free. “I like it,” he finally decided, looking back to Grace. 

Her expression was radiant as she told him, “I’m so happy you do.” Straightening from her slight crouch, she clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Now, I believe your father said that you all get to have the whole afternoon off! Go on, enjoy yourselves.” Mom, shooed them teasingly as she began to leave the room. 

“Wait⏤” Grace stopped, turning back to look at Klaus.

“Yes, Dear?”

“What about Five?”

There was a quick flash of six pairs of eyes towards the painting that watched over them. 

“Doesn’t he get a name?” Klaus asked. 

Grace hesitated for a moment, looking troubled. “Your father didn’t tell me to name Number Five.”

There was silence as they processed that. 

“Why?” Vanya sounded lost as she finally looked away from the painting to stare at Grace.

“I... don't know.” It was _wrong_ for Grace to look so confused. 

“What⏤ because he’s dead he doesn’t get a name?” Diego asked, anger curling back around his voice again. “I guess it makes sense, why need a name if you’re not going to even get a headstone to write one⏤” 

“Five isn’t dead!” Klaus snapped, standing. 

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise.  
“Um,” Three started, before stopping, shifting awkwardly in her seat. 

“I hate to say it, Fou⏤ Klaus, but your powers are hardly a reliable source of information,” said Luther, not sounding all that sorry. “If Dad says that Five is gone⏤”

“Shut up, One!” Klaus snapped before correcting, “ _Luther_.”

“K-Klaus,” Ben spoke softly, “you’ve been working on your powers right? So they’re getting...better, right?” His eyes flickered to Klaus’ left arm as he asked nervously.

Klaus started to answer before Diego cut in, “F⏤ Klaus’, powers aren’t what we are talking about right now, never mind that Five’s ghost could be stuck in the future somewhere for all we knew. What matters is that Five is _gone_ , and even now Dad can’t give him the decency of a _name._ ”

“Nothing Dad does is ever going to be good enough for you, is it?” Luther snapped, standing as well. “He just gave us an amazing gift and you can’t even be thankful for it.”

“ _Mom_ gave us a gift, Dad just _let_ her,” Diego snapped. 

“Guys,” Allison started to say, “Let’s not fight right now⏤”  
“I’m not fighting, I’m telling the truth!”  
“You’re being ungrateful!”

“ _You’re_ being⏤” 

Whatever Luther ‘was being’ was left unknown as Grace cut in, “Diego! Luther! Today is a special day, about being siblings. You shouldn’t fight, especially over the memory of your brother. We all loved him, and we are all very sad that he is… gone,” she looked troubled and lost for a moment as she spoke, as if Grace’s system couldn’t quite conceptualize the meaning of the word. Shaking her head, she continued, “Please, stop this fighting and enjoy what is left of your birthday together, like you are meant to.”

Diego deflated, followed quickly by Luther. “Sorry, Mom,” they whispered. 

“It’s okay,” she forgave them easily. “It’s always… hard.” Her smile flickered again and her eyes were far away and distracted as she told them, “I’m feeling rather run-down, children. I think I should take a little rest. Go and enjoy your afternoon, just remember not to disturb your father.” She drifted away, her brow creased, her heels tapping lightly on the hardwood floor. 

“Diego⏤”

“I don’t take back what I said, _Luther_ ,” he snapped, “I know I’m right.”

Luther frowned as Diego angrily, though silently, left the room. It was quiet as everyone looked at Luther, waiting for a verdict. “You heard Mom,” he said finally. “Go enjoy yourselves.” He dismissed them and left the room, Allison trailing shortly behind. The sound of muttering voices could be heard as they made their way upstairs but Klaus couldn’t make out any words from the living room. 

“Klaus⏤” 

“I’m tired,” Klaus cut Ben off, “I’m going to take a nap.” He stood quickly and followed the others out of the room before there were any more protests.

***

There was no improvement in appetite or atmosphere by dinner. Klaus was making a mess of crumbs from breaking his roll apart in attempts to avoid having to eat it when Reginald spoke. 

“After dinner, you will meet me in my office for your annual review of your progress as well as a gift that is to be used in the development of your abilities. I will begin with One and progress down to Seven. I expect you to be ready and waiting in the hallway at seven-thirty.” He stood, tossing his napkin across his half-finished plate.

“Luther down to Vanya you mean,” Klaus spoke before Diego could. “Or have you already forgotten our names?”

“Number Four,” Reginald spoke slowly, leaning forward across the table to stare directly in his eyes, “You have been permitted civilian names not for their own sake, but for their tactical advantage.

“Now that your fieldwork is increasing, your identities are going to become more important. As it is, the details of who you are, are kept shrouded in mystery. This ambiguity will only become more important as time progresses. There may come a time in which covert operations are necessary, especially as you all grow into adults. It will be useful to have a separate identity for situations such as this⏤ therefore it is time that you each receive a name,” Reginald straightened, looking at them down his nose, finishing, “However, while inside the Academy, there is no use for such nonsense. I am your superior in command, Number Four. You will do well to remember as much, and respond to whatever I should care to address you as. The rest of you as well.” He glanced at each of them before turning away. Striding to the door he called, “Be at my office by seven-thirty, Number One.”

***

Late that night, curled on his side in bed, Klaus watched as the clock turned to eleven o’clock. Only one more hour left of this, the worst of all birthdays. He could hear soft footsteps and the sound of doors opening and closing down the hallway. The soft muttering voices grew louder and softer as his siblings passed his door. Dully, Klaus wondered what they were doing, risking being out of bed so late. Before Five had gone, they used to sneak out all the time. But security and rules had only become stricter since then. If Reginald caught them, there would be hell to pay, and Klaus for one did not feel like being chewed out when he was already barely holding on. The sound died down and Klaus watched the clock turn to eleven-o-five. There was a soft knock of warning before the knob slowly turned, his door opening a sliver at a time.

“Klaus?” Ben asked, low and tentative around the new word. 

“Yeah?”

Ben slipped into the room, followed by the others. None of them were in their pajamas, wearing instead the few items of non-uniform clothing they had. Klaus lifted his eyebrows in question. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yep,” Allison told him, grabbing his arm and pulling him up into a sitting position. “And so are you. Put this on.” She tossed her black skirt that she knew Klaus loved down onto the bed. He smiled at her tentatively and everyone turned around to give him privacy as he changed. The limited clothing options he had made the process of choosing an outfit go quickly and within ten minutes they were slipping down the hallway, shoes in hand. 

Luther took the lead as they single-filed out of the window and onto the fire escape, winding down the rickety metal steps silently, dropping low and creeping past each window where Reginald might catch a view of them. In the alleyway, they paused to slip on their shoes before hurrying down the streets, clumped tightly together but beginning to loosen up, stifling laughs and trading teasing jabs and light shoves. 

“Hurry up, we only have thirty minutes of birthday left,” Luther urged, picking up the pace. They jogged lightly, smiles blooming loosely as the distance between the academy and them grew. Finally, the gleam of Griddy’s sign shone in the distance and they hurried to it, shrieking and laughing as they dodged late-night traffic and half-drunk strangers. They burst through the door, the bell ringing merrily as they shuffled over each other and lined up around the bend of the counter, high on freedom. 

A tired-looking waitress came from the back, pausing for a minute to look them up and down. “It’s late for you kids to be out,” she said finally, pulling out her pad and pencil, “Are any of your parents around?” The waitress looked over their heads as she asked, trying to scan the dark street for an adult who looked like they belonged to six teenagers. 

“I heard a rumor that it’s perfectly fine for us to be out alone,” Allison said quickly.

The waitress’s gaze dropped from the door, “What can I get for you kids?” she asked, smiling at them.

“Cinnamon twist, please,” Allison ordered, batting her eyelashes innocently. “And,” she looked down the line of them, “one plain vanilla long-john, a chocolate eclair, a French cruller, one lemon filled, a chocolate ring with chocolate icing and sprinkles, and a Boston Cream.”

“Coming up, honey. Anything to drink with those?” 

“Milk all around I think,” Allison said, glancing around for confirmation.

“Can one of those be chocolate?” Klaus added. 

“Double chocolate doughnut and chocolate milk?” Diego asked, skeptically. 

“I’m treating myself,” Klaus told him in fake haughtiness. 

“No problem,” the waitress smiled, “And no judgment,” she added, winking at Klaus as she went to fix their order. 

While waiting, they chattered about nothing important and the few pop culture references they understood from their past stolen nights out and the small snatches of tv that they caught outside of the daily news. Six cups of milk were placed in front of them, with a bottle of chocolate syrup next to Klaus’. He went to work turning his milk black with the stuff.

“So this one for you,” the waitress said, placing the ring in front of Klaus with a teasing smile. “And the long-john?” Luther raised his hand and she passed it along, sending the twist to Allison, the lemon-filled to Vanya, the cruller to Ben, and the eclair to Diego. “And who gets the Boston Cream?” she asked, the seventh doughnut sat innocently in her palm and their stomachs dropped out.

“Oh,” Allison said quietly, staring at Five’s doughnut, “I’m sorry, I didn’t... I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay, Allison,” Vanya said quietly. “None of us caught it either.” For a short few minutes, they had forgotten.

Looking confused and slightly concerned as to why six young teenagers were looking on the verge of tears at the sight of a doughnut, the waitress set the plate down on the corner in the middle of their group. “I’ll just leave this here,” she said quietly, unsure. 

“Thank you,” Luther said, swallowing hard, glancing at her name tag, “Agnes.”

She smiled softly and ducked back into the kitchen with a quick, “Excuse me.” 

In the absence, they sat for a minute longer, staring at the doughnut, the joy suddenly evaporated. Just as Luther was about to suggest that they leave, Diego turned to his right saying, “On second thought, Klaus, could you pass the chocolate syrup?”

Klaus’ slowly smiled, mocking softly, “Oh, so now you’re into the double chocolate, Mr. Chocolate Eclair with Chocolate Milk.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Diego admitted, pouring a generous amount into his cup. “Savour it, Klaus, because this is the last time that _that_ is going to happen.”

After Diego was done making his chocolate milk, Ben took the bottle from him and the conversation began to flow again, laughter slipping back in as Agnus moved around them, straightening chairs and wiping down tables. 

Ben was in the middle of a surprisingly accurate Pogo impression when Klaus noticed that without their realizing, the big hand of the clock had slipped past the twelve o’clock mark. Their first birthday as a group of six had passed. Their doughnuts were gone, diminished to crumbs and smears of frosting and filling, the last dregs of milk and streaks of chocolate left in the bottom of their cups. 

“What are we going to do with Five’s doughnut?” Klaus asked quietly as the laughter died down. It still sat untouched and they stared at a minute as if waiting for the doughnut to do something. 

“I think,” Vanya started, “that Five would have hated for it to go to waste.” There was a general nod of agreement. 

“We’re going to share it,” Luther decided. 

After a beat, there was a hesitant nod of consensus around the counter. 

“Okay,” Diego agreed tightly. “But not here. Let’s take it home.”

Allison flagged down Agnes and asked for a paper bag while the others pooled their money, mostly made up of small coins, to pay for the doughnuts.

The trip back to the Academy was quieter, their feet dragging in weariness, the sugar buzz killed off quickly by the weight of the day. Five’s absence left them unbalanced, like a limb cleaved from their already unstable body. 

They crept smoothly back up the fire escape, Luther leading the charge. To the surprise of the others, he skipped past his own window, going up one more floor. 

“Luther?” Allison questioned, hesitantly. 

He paused outside of Five’s room, his hand resting on the windowsill, not looking back at the others who crowded behind him.“I thought… we should do it in our old space. And it’s for him so…” he trailed off, shrugging stiffly. 

Quick glances were passed up and down the fire escape. 

“I don’t think he would mind,” Ben said finally. “It would be _traditional_ to use his window to get up there.”

“It’s quieter. Only makes sense,” Klaus added. 

Luther didn’t say anything else but gently slid open the window. It resisted a little at first, unused to being moved, but he eased it up silently. 

Despite their self-assurances that it was okay, everyone passed through the bedroom as quickly as possible, heading straight for the open attic space that they used as almost a clubhouse. They formed a ring on the ground, Luther placing the paper bag in the middle. Everyone stared at it. 

Allison broke the silence. “We should get a plate at least, make it a little nicer,” she reasoned. 

“And a candle,” Klaus added before thinking the statement through himself. 

“Candle?” Diego asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“We haven’t even sung yet today,” Klaus pointed out. He’d nearly forgotten about the tradition, so distracted by things like names and maybe-dead missing brothers. “If we’re going to do a tribute, we should have a candle. It’s his birthday.”

“Klaus⏤” Allison started to protest in her gentle but firm _he’s dead and you need to start dealing with that voice,_ but Diego put his hand on her arm, stopping her. 

“Okay,” he agreed. “A plate and a candle. Who’s on reconnaissance?”

“Ben and you,” Luther ordered. “You’re our best for stealth operations.” 

A small smile twitched at the corner of Diego’s lips at the rare praise. “Alright. Hold on, we’ll be back in a few.”

No one spoke until they returned. 

Allison carefully placed the doughnut on one of Grace’s good china plates, moving as if the pastry itself was made of glass. The only candle that Ben had been able to find was a dusty white stump, sourced from the back of a kitchen drawer, a relic of the last blackout. They’d never had a need for birthday candles in the Academy.

While it wouldn’t work to put it on the doughnut, he had found an ornate silver holder, dressing the sad lump of wax up a little bit. Ben placed it next to the plate in the middle of the circle. Klaus offered his personal lighter wordlessly. It took two attempts, but Ben lit the candle and moved back to his place in the circle. They sat and watched the flame dance slowly in the dim light of the attic, casting tiny slivers of light over their shadowed faces, glinting over half-concealed tears. 

Finally, Luther steeled himself, pulling the plate out of the circle and ripping off a chunk. He allowed Allison to take a piece too before pushing it to his right to Vanya. Diego passed to Ben, who carefully tore the last piece in two, handing one of them to Klaus. They each held their segment of doughnuts for a moment, the filling dripping down their fingers, before Luther raised his with a solemn, “To Five.”

“To Five,” they toasted. 

A long trickle of wax ran down the candle, dripping onto the floor, the tiny _plink_ it made on contact audible in the suffocating silence of the house.

“Happy Birthday to us,” Ben began quietly, the others joining in with flat strained voices, “Happy Birthday to us. Happy Birthday, dear, Diego,”

“Ben,” he responded.

“Luther,” added Allison.

“Allison.” 

“Klaus.”

“Dear, Vanya,” Klaus finished, horsely.

“Happy Birthday to us.” 

Klaus blew out the candle.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they have names now! yay! I think we are all tired of the numbers tbh. I also need to thank my beta again for all the times they told me I messed up and used names bc I forgot my own thing lol.  
> The cannon of when they actually got their names is confusing so I invented my own thing. That's what an AU is for :)
> 
> Agnes was the special guest star because I love her. In this house we stan Agnes. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	6. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reginald is great at the scientific method and absolutely horrible at parenting, the siblings love and hurt each other in equal measures, and Vanya asks dangerous questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to the wonderful [Artswaps](https://artswaps.tumblr.com/)

_ From the Research Notes of Sir Reginald Hargreeves:  _

**_28th September 2003_ **

_ Number Four does not appear to be making any progress towards controlling his power without stimulants. While the use of narcotics such as morphine has greatly accelerated his ability to commune with the dead, the continued use of such substances poses some strategic concerns.  _

_ After nearly two years of intravenous use, Number Four is beginning to show signs of damage at the injections sights. It is now taking Grace 3% longer to find a useable vein. While the work must continue, it is illogical to contribute any more physical damage upon Number Four than absolutely necessary.  _

_ The injection port has curbed some of these concerns, however, I am hesitant to rely upon it too heavily for long-term use and am seeking another solution to the issue.  _

_ I have been conducting research on alternative options for medications that may work to assist Four access his powers. I believe that pills may provide the outlet I am looking for. I plan to present these alternatives to Number Four next week and implement their usage shortly after.  _

**_15th October 2003_ **

_ Oxycodone appears to boost Number Four’s natural abilities effectively.  _

_ Reaction time is slower and the results are less consistent. It appears Number Four has slightly less control under this medication.  _

_ More experimentation required.  _

**_20th October 2003_ **

_ Hydrocode is too weak to effect Number Four’s powers to a satisfactory level. He claims the connection is too unstable. Readings indicate a slightly lower level of electric energy in the room vs other medications.  _

**_7th November 2003_ **

_ Methadone and oxymorphone have both proven effective  _

_ The amounts given must be carefully monitored. Four came close to overdosing at an unexpectedly small dosage.  _

_ May be best served as a backup to a more stable solution. _

**_18th November 2003_ **

_ Oxymorphone appears to stabilize his emotions better than other pills. This may be useful when used in tandem with other medications.  _

**_21st November 2003_ **

_ Number Four not ready for the use of hydromorphone.  _

_ Takes effect at a rapid rate (a strong benefit), its strength is still too great for his current tolerance. Leaves him far too lethargic to communicate effectively and caused a panic attack at its last use. Once the dosage wore off, Four was unable to regain control over himself. A waste of time.  _

_ Reconsider use at later date. _

  
  


**_10th December 2003_ **

_ I have begun formulating a cocktail of substances to give Four the best effects of all medications studied so far. The last experiment showed that the concoction still favors oxymorphone too heavily as Four was relatively unresponsive to questions while under the influence. This variable must be reduced.  _

**_24th December 2003_ **

_ I believe I have found a stable combination of medications to use on Number Four. The majority component is oxy, with components of methadone and traditional morphine. These pills give him a controllable, though potent, connection to the dead.  _

_ The time required for them to take effect is still too long, yet I cannot increase their strength without sacrificing Number Four’s connection.  _

_ I believe that, with continued use of the injection port, intravenous dosing is still the best course of action to take with Number Four. It offers precise control over his abilities with an easily adjustable dose that provides immediate results.  _

_ It is my determination that the pills should be used as a last resort only. I believe that they may help with the current goal of implementing Number Four’s powers in the field. Furthermore, they will offer a way to prevent withdrawal on missions that require the Academy to be gone longer than twenty-four hours.  _

  
  


*** 

The high washed over Klaus, warm and comforting even as the shadowy imprints split apart into the forms of the dead. His body went limp as the nagging itch that had followed him for the last few hours faded away. He kept his eyes closed, steadying himself in the peaceful sea, even as he began to feel the dead gathering around him. Slowly, he opened his eyes, flinching at the sight of a figure leaning inches over his face. Barely recognizable as human, it was distorted by the blistering black burns that covered its entire body. 

“Are they here?” Reginald asked from his chair, making marks on his clipboard as he watched the monitors. 

There was a lag as Klaus’ brain processed. “Yes.” He swallowed, tearing his gaze away from the burned ghost to look at the others. Klaus relaxed a fraction as he noted that they were all adults⏤ no hint of blue and red uniform among them. Five wasn’t there. 

“What do you see?”

“There are...” he counted quickly and subtracted the Fates. No matter how often he attempted to banish them, they still came back, the only spirits to appear with dependable regularity. Usually, if a ghost didn’t get what they wanted from him, they gave up after two to three appearances. The Fates were almost always there. They seemed to inhabit and haunt the Academy itself. Sometimes, as he was falling asleep, Klaus swore he saw them flicker around the corners of his room. He never mentioned them, for fear of what Reginald might do. 

“Eight,” he finally responded.

Reginald glanced up. “Where are they standing?”

Klaus licked his lips, wishing he could have water. “Two on my right, next to my head. Three near my left hand. One at the foot of the bed.” He looked around the room again, grimacing. “One by the heart monitor, laying on the floor. She can’t stand.” 

“That’s only seven.”

“One in the corner⏤”

“Which corner?”

“Left by the door. He’s not really looking at me. Doesn’t seem to notice I can see him.”

“What is he doing?”

“Just rocking,” Klaus whispered, watching him. “Back and forth. He’s crying.”

“Age?”

“Twenty? Maybe? It’s hard to tell.”

“Cause of death?”

Klaus looked the ghost over. “I would guess drowning. He’s soaked and discolored.” 

“Try to engage him.”

Klaus sighed, trying to ignore the other spirits who were repeating his name and the way the woman on the floor kept screaming in pain. At the moment, the drowned man was the least frightening. Klaus tried to force himself to calm, telling himself that the ghost was just sad, not trying to attack him. “Hey?” he started, carefully, calling towards the crying man. “Can you hear me? In the corner?”

The man continued rocking.

“Mister?” Klaus called again louder. “In the corner? The one who is crying? Can you hear me?”

The man stopped and looked up. 

Klaus tried not to flinch at the swollen purple flesh. “Yeah, you.” Things blurred as another wave of the high hit Klaus. He closed his eyes, fighting against it. When he looked again, the man had stood up and was watching him intently. 

“Number Four!” Reginald snapped, “Focus.”

“Yes, Sir.” Klaus centered himself again, taking a long deep breath. “What is your name?” he asked. 

The ghost took a step towards him.

“I’m Klaus.” He ignored the look that Reginald shot him. “What is your name?”

The man opened his mouth. There was a terrible gurgling sound and he seized strangely, murky water surging from his mouth. The ghost choked and coughed around mud and tangled weeds. He shook his head at Klaus, trying to stop the sludge from coming up even as liquid trickled down his chin from tightly clamped lips. 

“He can’t talk,” Klaus whispered. It felt like a hand was gripping his throat, silencing him. 

“Why not?” Reginald hated it when the dead did not cooperate. There was nothing he could give a ghost to make it do what he wanted. 

“He’s drowning,” Klaus breathed. “The water is still in his lungs. He’ll never stop drowning.” 

Klaus’ eyes burned hot. His chest ached with the realization of the sort of hell the man had condemned himself to when he chose to come back.

Reginald didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes shining with interest. “Really,” he finally breathed. “Even in death, he is⏤. Fascinating.” He made wild scribbles in his notes. “What else do you see?”

Klaus shook his head as the drowning man came closer, gripping the handrails of the bed. Muddy brown water dripped across the sheets and Klaus shrank back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t help. I’m sorry, I can’t⏤” In the distance, Klaus could hear a wild beeping that he vaguely registered as the heart monitor before the world went black.

  
  


When he came down, Reginald gave Klaus a sharp wrap across his knuckles for his failure to regain control and sent him to clean up the sweat and tears that crusted his skin and soaked his hair. It was a lesser punishment, perhaps in some form of recognition for the few minutes that Klaus had been able to focus. 

***

During the months that the experiments with the pills took place, Klaus’ health swung on a pendulum that occasionally left him closer to the dead than was strictly preferable. As his weight dropped and the circles under his eyes grew darker, he began to spend more of his free time in his room, turning down invitations to join in a round of Scrabble⏤ one of the only board games deemed acceptably productive by Reginald, or a rare activity in the courtyard. When the doses weren’t strong enough, he was left sickish and irritated, snapping harshly at everything from Luther’s records to Vanya’s violin practice.

After one of his outbursts made Vanya cry, Klaus put forth a greater effort not to lose his temper with anyone. The side effect was that, when he was feeling annoyed or overly anxious, he tended to shut himself up inside his room until he felt better in control of his emotions. It quickly became that outside of training, Klaus was spending more time on his own than with his siblings. 

To his credit, Ben made a valiant effort to get someone else to be as concerned as he was, but in the absence of Five, and with the increasing sense of competition that Reginald stoked between them, it was no secret that the Academy was beginning to splinter. There were still brief moments that brought them together, reminded them of that night on their fourteenth birthday when doughnuts seemed like enough to cure all the hurt in the world, but by the spring of that year, their group outings had all but stopped completely. 

Though, of course, it still went unsaid that it was the sibling code of honor to cover for anyone who was mysteriously absent while Reginald was looking for them.

***

In mid-May, there was a morbidly shining instance that still resembled bonding when a training session went somewhat wrong. It started out like most days, with heads clashing metaphorically and physically. As usual, Klaus was struggling to keep up.

“Klaus, use his strength against him!” Diego instructed from the sideline, wincing as Luther again managed to nail Klaus’ shoulder with a hit as he failed to dodge. 

Klaus grunted lowly in pain, dancing backward to avoid another hit. He hated sparing. 

“Don’t just avoid! Attack!” Diego shouted. 

Klaus, rather ungracefully but still effective, managed to tackle Luther, taking him by surprise⏤ though he did bang his own elbow painfully on the way down. They grappled for a moment before Luther quickly flipped them over, sitting on top of Klaus and roughly pinning his arms above his head. 

“Hip plow!” Diego tried to help. 

But Klaus was distracted by the burning pain in his forearm. Luther had, quite by accident, ripped the IV- now in its second incarnation- from Klaus’ arm. He could feel the wet stream trickling down his limb even if he couldn’t see it.

Staring, frozen, at the blood that had begun spilling onto the mat at a concerningly fast past, Luther had felt a sudden lurch of brotherly protectiveness, underscored by the sickening realization that what he felt the urge to protect Klaus from was himself. 

Luther let go quickly, rolling off of him.“Klaus, I’m⏤” he stuttered, unsure. 

Klaus was hissing in pain, his hand clamped over his arm, blinking against tears. 

“Shit!” Ben pushed past Luther quickly, clamping his hand over Klaus’ own.

“What the hell, Luther?” Diego pushed his shoulder roughly and Luther stumbled back, the two not far off in height and size. “You know Klaus isn’t as strong as you! You’ve got to be careful with him.”

Glancing over Diego’s shoulder, Luther watched as Ben guided Klaus to the edge of the mat to sit down, noticing how, despite being taller than his brothers, Klaus somehow looked too small, pinched and shrunken in a way that didn’t look healthy. He wondered if the rings under Klaus’ eyes had been there all day if he really could have missed seeing them before⏤

A sharp jab on his chest brought his attention back to Diego. “I said you have to watch yourself,  _ Number One. _ ” 

His temper flared brief and hot, and before he could think about it Luther responded, “Why are you on my case? Klaus should have known better than to leave his side open,  _ Two _ .”

“You⏤”

“One! Two! That is enough,” Reginald’s sharp command broke their argument. Noticing how close they were now standing, Luther stepped back from Diego, relaxing his clenched fists at the command.

Off to the side, Allison and Vanya were both hovering worriedly over Klaus and Ben, who were still applying joint pressure to the wound as they waited for Grace to come back with the first aid kit. Watching them pay no attention to the bickering going on in the ring, Luther felt a twinge of guilt as he realized how quickly he’d forgotten the results of his own actions, distracted by a minuscule threat to his leadership, a tiny challenge to his role.

“Number One, you are to be more careful with interfering with Four’s port. As it is currently the only method through which he is able to harness his powers in a satisfactory manner, it is paramount for the success of the Academy that it remains functional.”

“Yes, Sir,” Luther muttered, ducking his head in shame. To have harmed a team member and jeopardized the mission⏤

“Number Two,” Reginald continued, “One is the leader of this team, and you are to follow his example. Four is lacking in his physical combat skills, and it is not up to One to accommodate his weakness. Ultimately, what happened today is the fault of Number Four and him alone.” 

The soft sob that Klaus gave then might have only been out of pain, the heavy wet drop that fell to the floor only more blood, still seeping from his arm. Might have. 

In the end, there was no more harm done than another small scar to add to the decorations on the inside of Klaus’ arm, and as Reginald put it, a waste of everyone’s afternoon. However, he did somewhat grudgingly admit to his oversight in having delicate tubing placed in the arm of someone who was expected to take part in vigorous exercise and physical combat. Though of course, Klaus should have been able to compensate, had he applied himself. Ultimately, Reginald had Grace patch up the wound and move the port to Klaus’ chest. Safety first, after all.

***

“Klaus? 

“Shi⏤!” Klaus yelped and was startled out of his already unsteady handstand.  _ Thump _ . 

“Oh, shit, sorry! Sorry!”

With a small groan, he rolled over and struggled to a seated position, minding his aching back and blinking vision as it swirled from the sudden head rush. Rubbing his throbbing elbow, Klaus turned to look at Luther, who was hovering uncertainty in the doorway of his room.

“Yeah?”

“I came here because I, uh, I just wanted to apologize.” Awkwardness didn’t suit Luther well. He looked strange, hunched and hesitant, for once not even faking confidence.

Taken aback and genuinely unsure what specific incident he was talking about, Klaus asked, “For what?”

“For, you know,” Luther gestured to his own arm before nodding to Klaus meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Klaus blinked. The ill-fated training fight had taken place over two weeks ago and there hadn’t been much mention of it since, beyond Reginald’s short brief on Klaus’ medical status following the relocation of his port. 

There had been a small upshot in criminal activity that had kept the Academy busy in the field, leaving little time for petty arguments over training accidents. Honestly, Klaus had assumed the incident had been forgotten about already. The bandage wasn’t even there anymore.

“It’s fine, Luther. Really. It was an accident and I’m pretty much healed anyway.” He smiled loosely to prove his point, but it must have betrayed something because Luther did not look reassured. 

His frown deepened. “But I⏤”

“Hey, everyone makes mistakes,” Klaus cut him off quickly, “I mess up my powers, like, every day. No big deal.” He smiled again, waving his hand dismissively. 

Luther’s eyes flickered to Klaus’ chest, where the oversized v-neck he was wearing exposed the tubing of the new port. “About your powers, Klaus⏤”

“Yeah, I know, not quite the same thing as yours. Not nearly as useful or... direct. Don’t worry, Luther, I know you’re still Number One,” he joked quickly.

Luther remained unconvinced. “That’s not what I meant, Klaus. This new training exercise that Dad is having you do…” he hesitated. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean? I’m fine! Great! Spectacular! I’m⏤”

“Klaus.”

He sighed, deflated a little. “I’m fine, Luther. Really.”

He nodded, still unsure. “And this stuff that Dad’s been injecting you with, does it... help?”

“I’m seeing ghosts all the time now,” he answered elusively. 

Luther blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“I mean, yeah, I need  _ help _ to see them, but Dad’s methods are... effective.”

Luther stared at him, searching. Klaus’ face was calm and his body still, but there was something about his eyes that looked  _ wrong _ . He didn’t exactly look like he did when he was lying, but Klaus’ eyes seemed too big, too dark, too unfocused, like half of his attention was being directed to something just beyond Luther’s shoulder. 

He turned to look, seeing nothing but empty air. “Is there⏤” his question was cut off as somewhere down the hall, Diego called that Reginald was looking for Luther. The moment broken, Luther quickly assumed his usual authority, saying, “Right, well, Dad knows best about these kinds of things. Right?” His question was just a little too loud, a little too desperate to be rhetorical. 

“Right,” Klaus assured him, his big black eyes blinking slowly. 

Down the hall, Diego called for Luther again. He pulled himself together quickly, reaching for the doorknob as he slowly backed away, making to leave.

“Well, ah, goodnight, Klaus.”

“Goodnight, Luther,” he whispered back. “And, ah, thanks. For the apology, I mean. Thanks.”

Hovering in the doorway, one hand on the knob, Luther said quietly, “You don’t have to say thank you, Klaus.”

“Well,” he shrugged trailing off. “You know.”

He nodded, small. “Yeah. Well, um, see you tomorrow, Klaus.” 

He left quickly, closing the door behind him. Distracted by the argument between Diego and Allison over whose fault it was that the hot water was gone, the vision of Klaus’ wide dark eyes easily slipped from his mind.

Years later, when he did remember, it was with an odd mixture of anger at his personal failure, and melancholic nostalgia for his fourteen-year-old self who didn’t know what someone⏤ what his  _ brother _ ⏤ looked like while high. 

***

When Klaus was again given a clean bill of health in early June, his arm having completely recovered, it was decided that now was the time to implement the use of his powers in the field. A few weeks previously, Reginald had taken to giving Klaus his daily dosage directly before training exercises began, and his ability to keep the ghosts under control while staying alert on his feet had improved. Of course, one tended to adapt rapidly to a situation when doing so was a matter of survival, and while Reginald would most likely step in before training became quite that serious, it did not help Klaus to remember as much when he was trying to dodge knives or scale the side of the house without safety ropes. 

Luther was put in charge of carrying the pills into the field, a backup in case Klaus’ powers were needed for some reason, or more realistically, in case they were gone too long and he needed something to curb his cravings. 

“Remember, Number One, these pills are to be used in emergencies. They are necessary for Number Four to be able to harness his abilities. However, the dosage used must be managed exactly,” Reginald cautioned. “Should a mission last more than twenty-four hours, Four will require a dose in order to keep his powers correctly stimulated and to preserve his physical health. I am entrusting you to ensure that he remains as effective as possible while in the field and that he returns in optimal condition. Do you understand your responsibility, Number One?”

“Yes, Sir,” Luther said seriously, standing up straighter.

“That is not to mention, the importance of the pills themselves. These pills are specifically engineered for the purpose of enhancing Number Four’s power. They cannot be easily replaced by a trip to the pharmacy. Protect the mission first, your team second, and these pills third. Is that clear, Number One?”

“Yes, Sir,” Luther answered. “I will not let you down.”

“See that you don’t. And Number Four, see that you do not make it necessary for Number One to take action.”

“Yes, Sir,” Klaus didn’t look up as he stared at his feet, feeling his siblings’ eyes on him, curious and half concerned.   
“Keep this with you, Number One.”

Luther tucked the bottle into his inner jacket pocket.

“Do⏤” Vanya blurted breathlessly, her hands gripping tightly around her clipboard. “Do you think... there might be a pill that could help me find my powers, too?”

Klaus was forgotten as they all stared at her.

“You do not have powers, Number Seven,” Reginald told her coldly.

“But⏤” 

“Four showed signs of possessing a paranormal ability before we began this trial. The medication helps to harness what was already there. You have shown no such sign of greater power or purpose. There is no point in experimenting with medication because there is nothing there to harness. You do not have powers, Number Seven.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Father,” Vanya whispered, a small tear falling down her cheek. Staring at her feet, she didn’t see the small frown that flickered over Allison’s face.

***

Five days after Luther was given the pills, Reginald announced that he had procured a spot for Vanya at the prestigious summer program for teens at Carnegie Mellon and that she would be leaving for Pittsburgh early on Monday morning for their six-week workshop. 

Vanya was silent, her eyes wide, and a small expression of hurt was quickly stifled as she finally said, so sincerely it ached, “Thank you, Sir. I will make you proud.” 

Reginald simply nodded and went back to his breakfast sausages. The children glanced at each other in mild shock— Reginald hardly let them past the front steps without supervision, much less sent them to another state. But then again, Vanya was not exactly a member of the Academy either. No one in the outside world really knew that she existed, so it couldn’t be much of an exposure risk. They muttered quick congratulations and turned back to their own food, the allotted time for breakfast quickly slipping away. 

Before she left, Vanya was permitted to request a special dinner from Mom, and she was sent off with strict instructions from her siblings to have enough fun for all of them, as well as an extra slice of lemon meringue for the journey. 

***

While it was strange to be without someone who was previously there every day of their lives, Vanya’s absence did little to affect the daily routines of the rest of the children. Pogo quite easily stepped in to fill her usual role of note-taking and timer management. In time, they nearly forgot she wasn’t there. Vanya always had been so quiet. Besides which, more of their time was being devoted to individual practices as their powers grew more nuanced and complex. Most days, they didn’t have time to think about the people that  _ were _ there and on their team, much less someone at music camp, far removed from vigilante justice and foiled bombings.

***

A hand reached for him, black dirt caked under its ragged nails. The form, nothing more than bones and weathered skin, was hunched and twisted in on itself. A long length of rope hung from the purple-bruised neck. It hadn't done its job. They died not through the sudden snapping of their neck but through the slow suffering of suffocation. It did not move its lips as it crawled beast-like towards him, but Klaus could hear his name as if spoken inside his mind. 

The ghost stretched out and pushed its hands through his chest. But Klaus swore that they didn’t go through him like a normal spirit would, but  _ inside  _ him. Those filthy hands dug through his body, tangling in his intestines. Yet Klaus could not move. He was petrified, strapped down, trapped. He strained desperately to do anything, even scream. His throat burned with the restrained cries until finally, they tore out of his body, so loud and forcefully he could feel it reverberating in the bones of his skull. His body ignited into motion and he desperately tried to get up but found hands clamped over his flailing limbs, pushing him back into place. 

"Klaus, Klaus, I'm here. I'm here, honey. Don't be afraid. You're having a nightmare," Grace cooed. She held his wrists in a strong but kind grip.

Her words did not make sense to him as he spiraled wildly. "No!" Klaus begged, trying to escape. "No, please! Stop! Please. Please,  _ Mommy _ . I don't want to. I don't want to. Please, stop. Please, make it stop. Don't make me do it again."

Grace let him go, confusion and something akin to hurt marring her sweet face. 

Klaus scrambled wildly to get away from her, slamming back into the wall of his bedroom – not the med-bay. He pressed himself into that corner, keeping as much distance between them as possible. "Please don't strap me down again," he begged. "Please."

Grace watched him, her eyes wide with worry. "Klaus? I'm not going to hurt you. You were just having a bad dream. I would never hurt you, honey."

"Please don't make me go back," Klaus repeated, starting to separate reality from the dream she'd woken him from. "Dad  _ hurts _ me."

"Oh, silly." Grace smiled. "Your father wants to help you. You're sick and you need your medicine."

"No," Klaus begged her to understand. "Mom, he's lying to you. He–"

"Master Klaus," Pogo spoke from the door. "I think that is quite enough."

"But–" he begged brokenly, his chance of help slipping through his fingers like water. 

"You know your father's work as well as I. It is not our place to question him."

Klaus turned from him to make one last plea. "Mom–"

"Grace, Sir needs to see you immediately," Pogo interrupted.

"Okay," she agreed lightly. "Just as soon as I–"

"Immediately, Grace," Pogo insisted again. "I’m afraid it was an express order."

"Oh." Her eyes glazed over as she responded. "Yes, of course. Goodnight, Klaus. And no more bad dreams!" She smiled dazedly at him, floating off. 

Klaus stared after her before looking to Pogo. They watched each other, saying nothing, for a long time. Slowly, Klaus nodded in understanding. "There is nothing I can do, is there? He will always win."

"Master Klaus, your father cares a great deal–"

"Good night, Pogo," Klaus cut him off. He crept back across his bed to lie down again. Klaus turned his back to the door pointedly. 

He could feel Pogo's eyes on him but did not move again. Finally, there was a small sigh and the low utterance, "One day, you will understand." Klaus' bedroom door closed with a small click and he was alone. 

Klaus lay awake in the dim light for a long time, unable to sleep. 

***

When she returned in August, Vanya was greeted with dozens of stories about what she had missed, including their very first car chase, which Diego had told her proudly he’d been behind the wheel for. If, between their recounting of the mafia boss who had peed himself at the sight of the Horror and the would-be jewel thief who had locked himself in a safe by mistake, they forgot to ask about her own adventures, it was surely only because of their excitement. Besides, Vanya had admitted the students under sixteen weren’t allowed into the city unchaperoned, so how many interesting stories could she possibly have? 

When the time came for her welcome-home meal, Vanya had slipped back into her old shell that six weeks of rare attention and playing along-side people her own age had begun to chip away. If her siblings’ apparent disinterest hadn’t done so, the reversion would have happened anyway by her father’s hand. The dinner in Vanya’s honor was interrupted less than half-way through by a rare near-congratulatory speech from Reginald, praising Luther for outpacing the power-related milestone calendar that had been set for him. She was truly beginning to feel forgotten as the plates were cleared without mention of her time at Carnegie Mellon when Reginald asked her to his study for a report. 

For perhaps the first time in her life, Vanya went upstairs with excitement and pride for what she had to tell her father. He listened to her accomplishments unblinkingly until Vanya had finished, at which point he gave her a long considering look and granted her one word; “Satisfactory.”

Vanya was caught between pride at being acknowledged at all, and bitter disappointment that she wasn’t more than just a mere passable  _ satisfactory. _

He then informed her that her room had been relocated to the lower level of the house, one corridor over from his own master suite. Really, he told her, it was high time. She and Four had been living in two very cramped rooms for too long, and as growing children, they needed more space. Seven especially as a young lady. Therefore, the wall that used to separate them was torn down in her absence and her things moved to a previously unused room on the ground floor, where she could even have her own attached bath. 

Vanya might have been almost touched by that, sentimental feelings for her old room aside, had Reginald not added that it was impractical and pointless for her to be rooming in that corridor anyway, considering she was not truly a member of the Academy and her proximity to the team in an emergency was a potential hindrance. As he explained, hard and unfeeling in his directness, that wing was better served in keeping the team together. 

  
  


Alone in her own new room later that night, too far away from the others to hear the familiar sounds of her siblings moving around in their rooms— knives hitting targets or restless pacing or muffled music from the other side of the wall she once shared with Klaus, Vanya unpacked her bags in the unsettling silence. She hesitated over the Summer Finale program that she’d brought back as a souvenir, tracing the black swirling lettering delicately with one finger.  _ Featured Soloist: Vanya Hargreeves.  _

She threw it in the trash. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you felt about the opening excerpts from what I like to call "Reggie's Hell Diary"! It's a style of writing I'm not used to working with so I would love to hear your thoughts <33333


	7. Defiance and Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus stands up, Reginald cracks down, and the Academy begins to splinter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope no one minds me posting this a day early. I needed a pick-me-up and thought it would be nice to post a little bit sooner than normal. I will return to my regularly scheduled update time next week Thursday.
> 
> Content warnings at the end, please read.
> 
> Many thanks to [Artswaps](https://artswaps.tumblr.com/) for helping me to handle these issues with as much care as possible, on top of their usual (amazing) beta skills
> 
> Please read carefully! If there are any concerns or if I made a mistake in how I set up my warnings, please do not hesitate to comment or reach out to my tumblr at [aye-of-newt](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Much love to you all,  
> Aye of Newt

There were no special gifts on their fifteenth birthday. Klaus was given a fresh IV port and an adjusted dosage. He didn’t ask what his siblings were given, though he noticed the new set of blades that were lying on the desk in Diego’s room when he went to collect him for their night out. 

The walk to Griddy’s was quieter than it had been a year ago, the walls of awkwardness taking longer to crumble. There was a slight current of tension between Luther and Diego that never quite disappeared, the two of them having gotten a little out of hand as opposite team captains during a training game of “Capture the Stolen Museum Artifact” earlier that week. 

In an odd way, their toast over Five’s split doughnut was more somber than it’d been a year before, even with the wound further scabbed-over by the passage of time. When they found their way back to the Academy sometime after one in the morning, they separated for their rooms with muttered goodnights and distracted expressions. 

***

In late December, Allison appeared in Klaus’ doorway with a scheming smile. “Want to play Fashion Show?” she asked.

Klaus raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

Allison looked at him flatly. “Klaus. We’re the same age.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know. I’m not that dumb. But you’ve been acting so.. _.mature _ lately.” Not to mention that she hadn’t asked him to do something so silly as play dress-up with her in well over a year. Or do much of anything with her, to be honest.

She winced, “Look, Klaus, I’m sorry I told you I didn’t want to watch  _ Cinderella  _ with you—”

“You called it dumb,” he pouted.

Allison looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “I’m sorry I called  _ Cinderella  _ dumb. I was in a bad mood and now I feel bad for yelling, so do you want to play Fashion Show or what?”

“So, this is a guilt thing.”

“Yes.”

“Cool!” Klaus bounded up, not looking even slightly upset anymore. “I call the red dress.” He brushed past quickly, heading for Allison’s room.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Hey! Wait! Klaus, that’s not fair!” Chasing Klaus into her room, Allison laughed, “Fine! But I get the purple heels then!” 

  
  


“How do I look?”

“Fabulous, darling,” Allison drawled, tossing her head dramatically as she turned around to look over her shoulder from where she sat at her dressing table, carefully applying a layer of red lipstick. 

Klaus grinned, spinning so that his skirt flared around him. “I know,” he told her, looking down his nose at her. She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile and turned around again. In the mirror, she watched Klaus' faux-superior expression crack, and he laughed, taking the scarf from around his shoulders and tossing it over Allison’s own. They smiled at each other’s reflections before he bent down and hugged her from behind. 

“Thanks,” Klaus said quietly. 

“Of course,” Allison replied, squeezing his hand as he let go. “I’m just glad that someone else in this house appreciates fashion.” 

“I  _ am  _ an icon,” Klaus struck a pose, looking more silly than sophisticated as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. 

“Come here,” Allison rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “I want to do your makeup.” She stood up and tugged his hand, grabbing her makeup bag as she let him over to the bed. Sitting cross-legged, facing each other, she spread her products out between them. 

“What color do you want for your eyes?”

Klaus chose the bright pink pallet and Allison pulled out a brush before scooting forward, carefully steadying his jaw as she told him, “Hold still.” A few accidental jabs in his eyes later, the bags under Klaus’ eyes were no longer visible, replaced by a pink glow that reached up to his brows and curled down around the corners of his eyes, blending into concealer and blush. 

Batting his eyelashes at her, long and heavy with mascara, Klaus smiled. “I want to see!”

“Hold on!” she told him, holding up a hand to make him pause. “One more thing. No peeking!” she warned, quickly retrieving the small bottle from the desk. Sitting back in front of him, Allison took Klaus’ jaw once more and commanded him to part his lips, painting a swirl of red across his mouth to match her own. She leaned back, squinting at him scrutinizingly. “Ok, now.” 

She moved out of the way and he stood, staring at his reflection. He looked completely and wonderfully unlike himself. 

“Well?” she asked, teasing.

“It’s perfect,” he breathed, turning his face side to side to admire the way the shimmer across his eyes caught the light. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she whispered back, smiling. They admired themselves in the mirror for a little while longer before she added, “Besides, who else am I going to get to do this with? Vanya?”

They both laughed and carried onto other gossip. They didn’t think about how their voices might carry through the thin old walls of the house. 

After finishing their makeovers and having admired themselves sufficiently in the mirror, Allison wandered off to spend the rest of the afternoon with Luther. Having a rare afternoon off, Klaus took to following Diego around the house and reciting horrible jokes, apparently unbothered that he was forced to do both parts of the knock-knock ones himself. It took almost an hour, but Diego finally got annoyed enough to wing a practice blade at him, which missed him by a generous distance. Unalarmed but recognizing his brother’s limits, Klaus wandered off to his room, bored now that Allison was preoccupied, Diego was pissed, and Ben was off doing personalized training. Even Vanya was busy with her violin. Her door had been shut for hours as she practiced, Klaus hadn’t seen her since breakfast. 

With nothing better to do, he practiced training exercises, which were made much more interesting by the added challenge of not letting his skirt blow up or his heels fall off. He generally had little interest in stopping crime, but mastering elegance and grace in whatever wardrobe he so chose was motivation enough to run through a few sequences. It would not do to fall down the stairs on his first date with a handsome boy, whenever that finally happened.

***0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0***

Allison had spent the rest of the afternoon with Luther, hiding away in the attic sharing secrets, and hadn’t paid much thought to what she’d done that morning, though she made sure to wash her face before dinner. The spectacular colors and dramatic wings she’d done with Klaus would have hardly been considered appropriate, even on her. As she went downstairs, Allison called behind her to remind Klaus that the makeup remover was on the table in her room if he still needed it. 

As dinner began, Allison didn’t think much of Klaus’ tardiness until he walked in and took his seat, his eyes still glittering and his mouth a bold red pout. Allison felt her stomach drop as she stared at him. Vaguely, she was aware of all motion stopping at the table around her. 

Klaus, evidently unaffected, turned and asked politely, “Would you please pass me the salt, Luther, dear?”

Luther blinked at him, his mouth slightly open, before slowly picking up the salt shaker and handing it to him. 

“Thanks,” Klaus went back to his dinner, humming quietly.

“Number Four,” Reginald spoke low. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”

Klaus looked at him as if Reginald was the one who showed up to dinner in a dress. “Buttering my bread?”

The slam of Reginald’s fist on the table made Allison, Ben, and Vanya all jump. Klaus raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Is butter not allowed now?”

“Put down that roll, Number Four and⏤”

“So it’s the carbs that are a problem? Really, Dad, this whole training diet you have us on is not healthy. We really shouldn’t⏤”

“Number Four, hold your tongue or so help me I will make you be quiet!”   
Klaus let go of his knife and roll, letting them fall onto his plate with a clatter. He clicked his jaw shut with a sharp snap, a small flicker of fear showing in his eyes. 

“As I am sure you are aware, Number Four,” Reginald continued, regaining his composure, “There is a standard, an image, that this Academy must present to the world. It would be inappropriate even for Allison to dress in such a fashion in public, much less  _ you _ .” He caught Klaus in his petrifying stare, asking,  “Do you care to explain to me, Number Four, why you felt that it was appropriate to present yourself in such a fashion at this dinner table, to disrespect me to such a degree? 

“I thought it looked pretty,” Klaus spoke so softly it could barely be heard, but Reginald’s face turned bitingly mocking all the same.

“You thought it looked _ pretty _ ,” Reginald repeated. “You are a boy, Number Four. Boys are not _ pretty.  _ Do you have any idea what the world will think of you, of this team, if you were to go out in public like that? They will say you are dressed like a  _ ⏤ ”  _

Klaus’ whole world narrowed to a pinprick. All that existed was  _ that word _ , falling from his father's lips as they curled in disgust. He could feel every cell in his body, like his skin was on fire, like maggots were crawling just under his flesh and if he tried to move, he would dissolve into filth so that all he could do was sit still, watching Reginald speak.

“And that does even address the question where all of  _ this _ came from. I am quite certain that I did not approve you to purchase any makeup, or girl’s clothing. The only person in this house with such items is Number Three. Did she help you to do this to yourself?”

His gaze flickered to Allison and her breath caught as she froze. She glanced at Klaus, desperate. Their eyes met for a minute and he shook his head minisculely at her. 

“No,” he answered calmly, looking Reginald in the eyes.

“No?” Reginald sounded disbelieving. “You did all of this yourself?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Really. With what supplies?”

Klaus hesitated and Reginald’s frown deepened.

“Did you steal the makeup, Number Four? Did you leave this house⏤?”

“No!”

“Then where did it come from?”

“I⏤” Four fumbled, panicking. “I guess, technically, yes, I did steal it.” He looked down, his shoulders slumping.

“As I suspected. You have been sneaking out, the only question is⏤”

“I stole it from Allison,” he interrupted quickly, head snapping up as he purposely did not look at her. “I went into her room and used her makeup and clothes without asking. She didn’t help me, and I haven’t been sneaking out.” 

“You will do upstairs and take all of that off immediately. I will deal with your punishment later.” Reginald turned back to his meal, beginning to cut his roast. “The rest of you, eat,” Reginald ordered. They scrambled to comply, knives and forks clanking against plates. Down the table, Klaus remained unmoving.

“No.”

Reginald froze. Slowly, he looked up. “No?”

“No,” he repeated, more firmly. “I won’t.”

“You…  _ won’t _ .”

“I won’t.” 

Reginald stared at him for a long moment and no one breathed. Then he was next to Klaus’ chair, digging his clawed fingers into his hair. “Upstairs.  _ Now _ ,” he growled, yanking. Klaus’ hands scrambled against Reginald’s clenched fist as he stumbled after him, trying desperately to keep up as he gave small whimpers of pain. 

“I will be obeyed,” Reginald ground through his teeth as he dragged Klaus through the house, not slowing even as Klaus stumbled on the stairs, bent awkwardly as he tried to keep his hair from being pulled any harder than necessary.

Reginald didn’t let go of Klaus until they reached his room. Flinging him against the bed, Reginald’s fingers tore through Klaus’ curls, leaving his scalp aching and his eyes watery. Curled awkwardly half on the bed, gripping his head painfully, Klaus stared up at Reginald towering over him.

“I am not to be disrespected, Number Four. I do not know what you wished to accomplish with... _ this,”  _ he gestured angrily at Klaus’ general appearance, “beyond making yourself look like a fool. But what I do know, is that  _ this  _ will not stand. I have given you everything you are. Without me you are nothing. I took you in. I raised you. I  _ trained _ you. Even when it appeared that you were powerless and ordinary, I permitted you to stay here. I held out the belief that you would show yourself worthy. Even now, as you remain completely incompetent, unable to summon so much as a flicker of power without my assistance, I still give you my grace. I still work tirelessly to help you, giving hours of my precious time to train you to do what your siblings could at half your age, with a mere fraction of the assistance. You rely on me for everything, Number Four, and  _ this _ is how you repay me?  By parading in front of not only me but the entire Academy how little you care about the image of your team you display to the world?  To show us all how  _ ungrateful _ , how  _ selfish _ , how  _ ignorant _ you are? 

“You are a disgrace, Number Four, to me and to this Academy. I shall have to consider quite seriously if you are worthy to continue serving as a member of my order.” He did not scream, his voice low and measured in icy control that made Klaus shiver at the words, feeling each reprimand wrack his body with a slimy cocktail of shame, hurt, guilt, and anger. 

_ Unworthy,  _ something dark hissed inside of him,  _ Disgrace. Worthless. Weak. _

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Number Four?” Reginald asked, in a way that made it clear he was expecting a specific response.

“I⏤,” Klaus thought of how easily his siblings caught on to their powers, how they did incredible things without batting an eyelash while Klaus had to be strapped down for fear of his own abilities. He thought of the way that Reginald nodded approvingly down at Luther, how it made Klaus’ stomach writhe with something sharp and hot. He hung his head, sliding down onto the floor as he said, “Dad, I’m⏤” Motion in the corner of his eye caught Klaus’ attention and he glanced to the side, towards the mirror that hung against the wall. His own thin and haggard face stared back at him, the makeup runny and smeared from tears and his hair knotted and standing on end from where Reginald had grabbed him. He thought of how he’d looked in a different mirror that afternoon and smiled at Allison through red lips and felt powerful. “No,” he said, feeling detached, as if he were beyond his body. 

“No?” 

“No,” Klaus repeated more firmly, looking up at his father through mangled bangs. “I don’t have anything to say. I’m⏤” he hesitated, wondering wildly if this was a bad idea, “I’m not sorry.”

“I see.” Reginald’s voice was dead calm as he stared down at Klaus, crumpled and defiant at his feet. “Well then, I do not believe that there is much left for me to say to you, Number Four. If you value your place on my team so little, then there is no need for me to continue wasting my time. There is no need for you to show up to your training session tomorrow. Or any day after that. I will permit you to stay under this roof for the time being. Who knows, Grace may find a use for you. But I, Number Four, have no use for a pupil who refuses to be taught. Even Number Seven, who has far less ability than you, is able to understand the purpose of my work, and willingly contributes what little she can. I must say, I am disappointed in you, Number Four. I thought I was beginning to see potential in you, meager though it was. I see now that I was mistaken. 

“You are as useless as you were four years ago, just as stupid and foolish. You’ve learned nothing since your trip down the stairs. You will never be anything more than a foolish, stupid child who squanders away an ability that the rest of the world would give anything to possess. How  _ disgusting _ .”

Klaus stared at him, shocked, and unsure of what was happening, the burning feeling churning in his stomach again, tinged with panic. 

“Clean yourself up, Number Four,” Reginald ordered, turning to leave. “You look like a drowned cat.” 

***0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0***

  
  


A quiet knock came on Klaus’ door sometime after everyone was supposed to be in bed. He didn’t respond and eventually, the footsteps padded softly away, assuming as he had hoped they would that Klaus was asleep. 

Allison went to Luther’s room instead. 

***

His siblings stole quick glances at Klaus all through breakfast, the silent tension high as they waited for the other shoe to drop. When Reginald announced that everyone, bar Klaus, was to meet him for training in the courtyard, their fervent looks became outright stares. 

“Number Four has shown that he is not worthy of being a member of the Academy. He is to take some time to think about what he has done,” Reginald explained coldly, staring at Klaus through his monocle. “I suggest you use this extra time today to reflect on that, Number Four.” He stood abruptly, “I will see the rest of you outside in thirty minutes,” Reginald addressed them before turning and leaving them all still frozen, eyes wide. 

“So if anyone else wants a day off you know what to do now right?” Klaus joked after a long, awkward pause.

Vayna’s eyes were so wide as she stared at him they seemed to take up half her face. Ben shook his head slightly in horror as Luther stood quickly, slamming his hand on the table. 

“This isn’t funny, Number Four!”

“Don’t call him that!” Diego shouted, rocketing up to glare at Luther. “You sound like a jackass.”

“Diego dear, language,” Mom scolded lightly. 

“Sorry,” Diego muttered, his shoulders sinking a fraction of an inch. “You’re acting like the rear end of a—”

“I’m trying to lead this team—”

“Oh shut up, you’re trying to suck Dad’s—”

“Diego!”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Well, I think I’m going to go to my room. Or maybe I’ll go out— haven’t really decided yet.” Klaus slowly eased himself out of his chair as he spoke. “You guys go enjoy your training, I’m going to go have fun having a whole day to myself.” He waved cheerfully, making a hasty exit. 

“Klaus! I am not done—”  
“Oh, would you _shut up,_ Luther,” Ben muttered.

***

For the first few hours, the freedom was wonderful, as strange as it was. Klaus wandered through the house, searching for the secret passageways he was sure had to exist and touching everything he wasn’t supposed to. As much as he would have liked to leave, it was too risky when Reginald was awake, not to mention Pogo and Mom. Eventually, he did get bored, and oddly tired. Klaus spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out of an upstairs window, slowly smoking the pack of cigarettes he’d swiped the last time he had snuck out. Watching the training exercises playing out down below, Klaus felt a little left out, despite how much he usually hated the drills Reginald made them run. Though, he reasoned, it wasn’t like he would have felt all that much different if he was down there anyway.

By dinner, withdrawal had set in.

The deep muscle aches sent tremors down his skinny arms while a thin sheen of sweat gathered on his brow. The slightest noise made him jump, his heart pounding in his chest until it almost ached. As the hours passed Klaus’ stomach turned and lurched despite having eaten next to nothing over the past twenty-four hours, and he found himself hunched over the toilet, retching even as nothing but acid and bile came up. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear voices passing up and down the hallway outside his room and Klaus thought his name might have been mentioned, but any recognition passed over him, insignificant. Eventually, things fell quiet again in what could have been hours or minutes. 

It was Ben who was sent some indeterminable time later to check on him. Klaus couldn’t have responded if he’d wanted to, laying weak and disoriented in his bed, his body heavy and pained and unwilling to respond to the simplest request. 

“Klaus?” Ben called hesitantly, “it’s dinner. Dad says you have two minutes to um,  _ get your ass down there or else _ .” He waited a long beat before calling again, “Klaus?”

Klaus moaned too softly for Ben to hear and twitched his fingers. 

“Klaus, I’m coming in, okay?” Ben waited, allowing him a chance to protest before slowly cracking the door open. A beam of light fell across the darkened room. At first, Ben was unsure Klaus was even there, but he flicked the light and Klaus was thrown harshly into focus, flinching from the brightness. “Oh shit!” Ben gasped, his tentative worry moving quickly to fear as he took in the state of Klaus where he lay crumpled and pale and drenched in sweat on top of his bed. He crossed quickly to Klaus’ side and felt his forehead. “Klaus, can you hear me?”

Klaus gave an indistinguishable grunt that Ben took as a yes.

“Okay, you’re okay. I’m just going to go get Mom. Stay there. Okay, Klaus, you’re okay, just hold on.” Ben pleaded rapidly, assuring himself even as he tried to comfort Klaus. “I will be right back, okay?” Ben ran out of the room, stumbling as he took the stairs two at a time, screaming, “Mom!”

***

Klaus woke bone-tired and stiff in a way that he hadn’t since he’d fallen close to ten feet over the edge of a balcony on a mission three years before. Even his eyelids ached as he forced them to open after several fluttering attempts. A steady beeping sound echoed in the background and he forced himself to drown it out even as it’s incessant pattern began to grate at him. Klaus blinked rapidly and the blurs around him slid into focus, the familiar monotones of the med room taking shape. 

“Mom?” he asked, his voice ragged and strangled.

“Number Four,” Reginald’s voice was low and flat, devoid of emotion.

Klaus winced and slowly turned his head so that he could look at him. He watched Reginald warily, waiting for his rage to drop.

“Have you satisfied yourself yet, Number Four? Do you see what defiance can do? What I can do should you not cooperate?” 

“I don’t understand what—”

“You have become reliant on the stimulus of your powers, Number Four. Without them, you have fallen apart in mere hours. Your powers are a part of you now, Four. You need them. You feed off of what it gives you.”

Even half-awake and confused Klaus could piece what was happening together. “You mean I’m addicted to the drugs. Aren’t you proud, Dad? You’ve raised a fifteen-year-old junkie.”

Reginald smiled darkly, not bothering to argue the point, “And I control your supply, Number Four. You were only off the drugs for twenty-six hours and nearly went into shock. I had to give you a mild dose to pull you off the edge. So tell me, do you wish to go through withdrawal again? ”

Klaus watched Reginald through half-lidded eyes, fear tightening his entire body. “No, I don’t,” he whispered. 

“I thought that might be your answer,” Reginald smiled, “So I trust that there will be no more such,” he paused, looking down his nose in disgust, “displays _.” _

Klaus thought of the joy that he’d shared with Alison and the dark looming  _ shaking, retching, the pain of his spine against the cold of the bathroom floor, _ and answered, “Yes, sir.”

***

Reginald finally hit the perfect balance of drugs after literal years of trial and error. The dose hit his bloodstream and Klaus was left just verging on the perfect high, retaining the smallest sliver of conscious control. It wasn’t until Reginald began questioning, however, that Klaus realized what was different; he felt a shred of power. 

“Ask them if they chose to become a ghost,” Reginald commanded.

“You know they can hear you, right?” Klaus snipped. 

Reginald gave him a dirty look and Klaus turned back to the dead. 

“Well?” Klaus asked the crowd around his bed. “Anyone feel like talking?”

From the mass, a man, probably around forty or so, leaned forward, like he was listening intently. He was relatively untarnished and Klaus couldn’t really tell what had killed him.

“I don’t really remember,” he confessed.

Klaus blinked at him. “What?”

“I asked, Number Four⏤”

“Not you,” Klaus cut Reginald off. “What did you say?” He repeated, staring at the ghost.

“I don’t really remember. I know that I realized I was dying⏤ heart attack in the backyard. And as it happened, I thought something like, ‘ _ I’m not ready,’ _ but I don’t remember wanting to be a ghost.” He looked somewhere far off, contemplating. 

“He says he doesn’t remember choosing, but that he thought that he wasn’t ready when he was dying,” Klaus whispered. 

“You’re speaking to someone?” Reginald asked, unmistakable excitement in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“Was there a space of time between when he died and when he came back?”

Klaus looked back to the ghost and raised his eyebrows.  
“Hmm, there must have been,” he answered slowly, “I remember collapsing, and the next thing I really remember was standing over my own body while my wife tried to call 911. But that must have been a few hours later because she had been out with friends that day, and by then it was starting to get dark.”

Klaus repeated the information back. 

“Does everyone who dies become a ghost? Does he know?” Reginald pressed again. 

“No,” the man answered without any prompting. “No, they don’t. My wife died about two years ago and she isn’t.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” Klaus asked.

“No. But she must have gone somewhere.” 

“Where?”

“On. Beyond.”

“Where’s  _ Beyond? _ ” Klaus asked.

“How can I know? I haven’t been.”

“What is happening, Number Four?” Reginald demanded. 

“Could you go?  _ On,  _ I mean?”

“I’ve heard of it happening,” the man told him. “When you’re ready.”

“Why aren’t you ready?” Klaus breathed. “Is this really better? And what about your wife?”  
“I can’t leave my kids,” the man answered. “They’re still too young to be without someone watching over them.”

Klaus felt like a hot knife was burning through his chest. “Oh,” he whispered. He’d read books about fathers that felt that way, but he’d always thought, or maybe  _ hoped _ was the better word, that they were fiction. That he wasn’t missing as much as those stories implied. 

The side effect of the lower dose that Reginald was using was that it burned off much faster and the man began to go fuzzy around the edges. 

“What is your name?” Klaus asked as the ghost began to evaporate back into mist. 

“Jim.”

He was gone.

Klaus explained what had happened and Reginald’s eyes gleamed. He prepared another syringe. “I have more questions,” he stated, sliding the needle into Klaus again. “Now focus, Number Four.”

By the end of the day, Klaus had technically taken more in the form of diminished doses than he ever had in the large single shots that Reginald had favored before. 

***0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0***

  
  


While Reginald cracked down on his freedoms inside the manor, Klaus found new ways to escape the confines of his life. On a beautifully clear night in late summer, Klaus snuck out into the city. His arms, free of tubing and marks, were bared in the warm summer air, the skirt Allison had outgrown slipping down his boney hips. He walked the streets for hours, going nowhere in particular, just feeling more free with each block that he put between himself and the Academy. 

After walking for some time, he could hear the distant thrumming of bass and a low hum of voices. Following the sound, Klaus walked over a block or so and rounded the corner to find an outpouring of color and sound, the night street turned into a glittering carnival. People of all ages and shapes were milling around, ducking from one glowing door to the next, the confusing chaos of at least six different songs playing at once as they spilled from clubs out on the street below was delightful as it was loud. Klaus watched in fascination as a figure with a beard made of glitter floated past him in platform heels and a tight black dress. 

They smiled at his look of awe and told him gently, “You look wonderful, honey.” They winked and ascended into a club. Klaus followed. 

Just inside the door he was stopped by a bouncer who seemed like he was twice Klaus’ height and three times his weight in pure muscle. “Got an ID kid?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ah…” Klaus stalled. “No? But!” He scrambled for something to save him. “I’m definitely old enough? I mean, I am  _ definitely _ old enough to be here. I just, uh, lost it?” Klaus grinned at him, trying to project confidence.

The bouncer was completely unimpressed. “Okay, kid. I’m going to have to ask you to leave if⏤”

“Hey, Carl.” A deep velvety voice interrupted them and Klaus turned towards the sound, finding the most handsome man he’d seen in person standing there. He was well built and tall, standing over six feet, with thick hair that fell artfully across his forehead. Klaus’ jaw dropped and the man winked one of his brilliantly blue eyes at him. “He’s with me,” the stranger told the bouncer⏤ Carl, apparently. 

“Oh?” Carl asked. “You have his ID?”

The man smirked, “Nope! But I have his cover.” He extended a folded note between two fingers. 

Klaus tracked the money with his eyes. Something about watching the man bribe the bouncer sent a prickling feeling down his spine. True, Klaus _ had _ been trying to weasel this way in, but it was bad form to accept help from an ally one wasn’t sure they could trust⏤ Reginald had taught them that much. Not to mention, the guy seemed, well, a little  _ old  _ for him. 

The bouncer looked from the man, to the money, to Klaus, to the man, and back to the money. He sighed, “Go have fun, _ kids _ . Drink responsibly.” Carl took the cash and stepped aside, letting them into the bar. 

“Come on.” The man extended his hand to Klaus. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

Klaus hesitated, looking at the outstretched palm. He glanced up at the man’s face and the stranger smiled, warm and radiant, like Klaus was something wonderful. 

“Don’t be so shy!” the man laughed. “I just want to get to know you better! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone as lovely as you here.” 

His words warmed Klaus from the inside like strong whiskey. It had been so long since anyone looked at him so tenderly or spoken such kind words to him, and never had it been someone who wasn’t Grace or his siblings. A blush started to spread across Klau’s cheeks at the idea of anyone finding him worthwhile to spend time or money or attention on.

Klaus took the offered hand, sending a desperate prayer to the little girl in the sky that his hands did not sweat or shake. 

He was too busy looking around at the swirls of color and wonderfully strange and interesting people in the club to hear what the man ordered for him, but when a bright blue drink was pressed into his hand Klaus didn’t hesitate to take a big sip. Almost immediately, he gagged and coughed as the alcohol hit. 

The man laughed. “Take it easy kid, that’s not the kind of thing you slam.”

“Right,” Klaus rasped. “I was just excited. You got my favorite drink.” He hoped that made him sound older, having a favorite drink. “Thanks though, for this.” He tried to cover his embarrassment, staring up at the man through his eyelashes in what hoped was a cute way.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at Klaus like he was very amusing. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” 

Klaus’ brain short-circuited. “What?” 

“I said,” the man repeated louder, leaning in to speak into Klaus’ ear, his lips almost brushing his hair, “What is your name,  _ gorgeous? _ ”

“It’s Klaus,” he stammered out. 

The man leaned back again. “Beautiful name, for a beautiful boy.”

Klaus blushed. “What’s your name?” he asked, unable to form any other thoughts.

“It’s Bobby.” He smiled, his light blond hair turning pink from the lights cast overhead. 

“Good name,” Klaus managed to say. 

Bobby laughed. “Want to dance?” he asked Klaus, extending his hand again. 

Klaus couldn't say anything, so he nodded, allowing Bobby to drag him onto the floor. 

  
  


For the next three hours, Klaus and Bobby danced only with each other, taking reluctant breaks when they needed something to drink. Or more accurately, when Bobby declared that they needed another serving. Klaus would have happily danced all night without the drinks, but Bobby was buying and he wanted to look impressive and mature. 

At one point, Klaus did think ask what time it was, remembering reluctantly that he would have to get home before anyone realized he was gone. 

Bobby laughed off his concern with assurances that the night was still young and he would take Klaus home himself when the time came. Before Klaus could argue any more, Bobby pulled him closer, tucking Klaus’ head under his chin. His muscled arms came to wrap around Klaus’ slight frame as Bobby murmured lowly how beautiful Klaus looked in his skirt.

Bobby was so warm and Klaus melted into his hug, drinking in every second of the rare feeling of being held. Any concern Klaus had melted away into the assurance that there was at least one person in the world who didn’t mind him being exactly how he was.

Somewhere after his third blue cocktail, Klaus lost track of how much he had and the passage of time. He started feeling heavy and tired in a way that felt unfamiliar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a strange ringing that reminded him of the familiar sound of burglar alarms. Klaus shook his head, trying to ignore it. He’d been drunk before. Never outside of the Academy, no. But he knew what it felt like. There was no reason to be afraid. 

The idea of being afraid startled Klaus. It was illogical, wasn’t it?  _ There was nothing to be afraid of, he scolded himself.  _ His stomach gave a particularly strong lurch at that moment, nausea prompted by more than just the drinks. Stumbling, he asked Bobby if they could sit down. 

Bobby said something about Klaus going too hard on his first night out, but he helped Klaus to a couch that was propped against a wall. Klaus flopped down bonelessly, half on top of Bobby.

_ “Klaus, Klaus.” _

“What?” Klaus asked, turning towards Bobby, squinting at him. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Bobby told him, stroking his arm. 

_ “Klaus, Klaus.”  _

“What, Bobby?” Klaus asked again, rubbing his eyes. The sound was making his head hurt.

“I’m not saying anything,” Bobby insisted, sliding his hand down to Klaus’ knee. 

“You’re sayin’ ma’ name,” Klaus protested weakly, his tongue tripping over the words. 

“Wow, you’re really out of it,” Bobby laughed.

Klaus clumsily pushed at the hand. “Wait,” he started to protest. Everything was confusing. 

Bobby knocked Klaus’ hand away easily. 

“Bobby,” Klaus tried again, slurring badly. Then flickering in the corner of his eye, Klaus saw him. He looked up. Standing just off the end of the couch, staring down at Klaus, was a boy around his own age. He dressed in all black, piercings running along the entire length of his ear and through his eyebrow and nose. When he saw that Klaus had finally noticed him, he spoke again, urgently.

“Klaus!” 

Klaus wondered how he missed someone standing right above him. “Whut?” he asked, trying to puzzle out how he knew the boy.

“Klaus, look at me,” he demanded. 

Klaus forced himself to focus. He let his gaze drop lower. There was something strange about the boy’s chest and stomach. It looked wet and his t-shirt was matted and stuck in strange places. Klaus knew that he recognized what it was but his brain moved slowly towards the answer. 

_ Blood.  _

They were soaked in blood. He hadn’t been able to tell before from the darkness of the fabric. 

“Whu⏤?” Klaus felt like his thoughts were walking through syrup. 

“Klaus, you need to get out of here,” the boy told him. 

His head lolled to the side as Klaus tried to process that. “What?” he said again. 

“I said you’re so beautiful,” Bobby murmured, pressing a kiss into Klaus’ neck, then over his lips. 

Finally, Klaus was jarred into reality, feeling the rough fabric of the couch press against his thighs that his skirt was too short to cover. Bobby was pressing down roughly into his mouth, the kiss more crushing than sweet.

Klaus’ thoughts raced as he processed.  _ I’m being kissed. There is a ghost here. I’m being kissed by a beautiful boy. The ghost is trying to warn me about something. I’m being kissed by a beautiful man… _

_ Who is probably twice my age.  _

_ Who got me drunk.  _

_ I’m drunk right now.  _

_ The ghost⏤  _

“Ow!” Klaus tried to pull away as the kiss turned into a bite.

“Come on,” Bobby tried to lean in again and something deep and instinctual in Klaus snapped. 

“I said no!” he shouted. Klaus wrenched himself back as far as he could and brought his foot up, kicking Bobby squarely in the chest and sending him to the floor. 

He stared at Klaus in shock before his handsome face contorted in anger. Bobby moved to get up, snarling, “You little c⏤” 

Klaus used his heeled boot to smash Bobby’s nose in with a spurt of blood. He followed up quickly with a hard kick to the balls, leaving Bobby curled around himself. 

“Fucker,” he muttered, swaying. The sickening feeling returned as his adrenalin faded. 

“You okay?” the ghost boy asked, his arms outstretched like he was ready to catch Klaus if he fell. 

“Fiiin-fine,” Klaus managed to say, his tongue like lead in his mouth. He stumbled towards the door, staggering through the crowd, leaving Bobby writhing and bleeding on the floor behind him. 

The rush of air that met him outside was a relief and Klaus took it in gratefully as he wobbled down the stairs. The ghost followed behind him. Klaus struggled up the street, which was now considerably less busy than it had been a few hours before. The colors seemed less inviting too, more garish, and taunting. 

Klaus reached the corner and stopped, unable to make sense of where he was. 

“This way,” the ghost told him, moving in front of him. Not having any other plan, Klaus followed. They walked almost two blocks in a staggering line until they reached a subway station. The boy ushered him down the stairs and told him what train to take. Klaus had no idea if it was right or not, but it seemed like the kid wanted to help so he followed. He wasn’t trying to grab Klaus or ask him for anything. Instead, he spoke in a soft, if scratchy, voice, giving small simple instructions as he guided Klaus through the station. The boy talked to him the whole ride back, going on about his favorite bands, keeping Klaus from falling asleep. 

When they got off, Klaus took a quick break to throw up into a trashcan. It was unpleasant but left him feeling more focused, even if his mouth tasted disgusting. The ghost winced in sympathy before leading the way again. Much to his relief, when he emerged from the underground, Klaus knew exactly where he was, within minutes of the Academy. 

“Thanks.” He smiled at the ghost as they walked together, though the figure was starting to blur around the edges. “I dunno know what I’d’ve done⏤”

“No problem,” he waved his hand. 

“What’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Thanks, Peter.” 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the sky above them turning gray. As the Academy came into view, Klaus thought of another question, “Hey, I’ve always wondered, how do you dead guys always know my name⏤?” 

Peter was gone. 

Klaus was strangely disappointed. He turned around a few times to make sure that Peter had really left. “Peter?” he called, tentatively. A gust of wind rattled the branches overhead and Klaus saw a whip of black shadow trail away above him. He stood there staring after if, unused to feeling regret that a spirit had gone. 

Finally, Klaus shrugged it off, shaking his head as he hurried the rest of the way back so that he could get into the Academy before anyone woke up. 

He collapsed into bed in exhaustion, fifteen minutes before the alarm went off to get up. 

How exactly Klaus got away with it would always remain a mystery, though it might have said something about the state that Klaus had been in of late that no one noticed a difference between a severely hungover Klaus, and an everyday Klaus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobia and violence against a child  
> Klaus wears a dress and makeup to dinner. Reginald is angry because he wants to present a perfect image of the Academy to the world and Klaus expressing his gender in such a way might bring negative attention. He tells Klaus people will call him a "--". Klaus feels awful and has some internalized homophobic feelings. Reggie then orders Klaus to take it all off. Klaus refuses. Reginald uses force to take Klaus upstairs to his room. The fight has become more about Reggie needing to have absolute control than anything else. Because Klaus refuses to back down, Reggie punishes him by kicking him off the team and taking away the drugs. 
> 
> This scene happens towards the beginning of the chapter and will be marked at the start and end with *0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0* instead of the usual ***. 
> 
> ***This scene was included to show how controlling Reginald is down to the tiniest detail, as well as illustrate Klaus' need to be his own person. The theme of identity will be somewhat prevalent throughout this fic, especially in later chapters.  
> The way that Klaus is described to feel about himself in that moment is based on my personal experiences of hearing my parents say those types of words. (Those couple lines are the only part of this scene that is based on my life, however. My parents were not anywhere as abusive as Reggie.)***
> 
> WARNING: Attempted assault:  
> Klaus sneaks out to a gay bar and meets a man in his thirties, Bobby. He gets Klaus into the club and then buys him drinks. Despite Klaus having a bad feeling about the situation, he goes along with it because he likes being treated "kindly". Klaus ends up very drunk and the man kisses Klaus and puts his hand on his leg. With the help of a friendly ghost, Klaus realizes the danger he is in and beats the shit out of the creepy man. The ghost helps him get home safely. 
> 
> This is the last scene and is again marked with *0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*0*
> 
> ***This scene was included to illustrate the Klaus is so hungry for any kind of love and positive attention that he will put himself at risk for anyone who shows any interest in him. It sets a bad precedent for how Klaus views love and relationships as well as his own self-worth. ***


	8. Two Birds, One Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Academy loses two members forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely [artswaps](https://artswaps.tumblr.com) for their contributions to this chapter!
> 
> And apologies to all of you for the delay in posting! Things happened. To make up for it, I will be posting two chapters today <3

The team didn’t work the way it used to. 

As they grew older, Reginald gave them all more responsibilities— though with their father monitoring their every move, it was impossible to confuse this with the independence afforded to normal young adults. When they went out, what they did, what crimes they stopped⏤ it was all still left up for Hargreeves to decide. So was what they wore, ate, did, and said when and if he allowed them to be interviewed. 

(Reginald had actually invested in tiny, high-quality earpieces to feed them lines for such occasions after Klaus let a hint of his non-heterosexuality “ _slip”_ on national television _._ He’d spent almost three agonizing days sober after that.)

But, over time, Reginald began to leave training exercises to the leadership of Luther, while also allowing him to make calls in the field that would have previously been fed to them through said earpieces. 

This was something that Klaus quickly grew to resent after the first time Luther had ordered him to dose in the field. A mob boss with half a dozen or so hostages had been found to be rather superstitious, and Luther was hoping that Klaus would be able to freak him out enough to give the team the upper hand.

To be fair it did work. Klaus had scared the man with the words of the man’s own father, who the mob boss had murdered to gain power. And how could forcing Klaus to use his powers be a punishment, really? Logically, Luther had no reason to think that it might be torturous for Klaus, not when Klaus had been working for years to hide the way he trembled after coming back from solo training. 

Luther couldn’t see the other spirits, most of them children, that haunted the man. He did not hear them as they told Klaus what the boss had done to them. Luther was not haunted that night in his dreams, the corpses of the ghosts morphing to those of his siblings while he could do nothing but watch. 

He would never understand what it was like to have your powers turned against you.

As for the others, their training expanded in different ways. Diego worked desperately to live up to his role as second in command, although no matter how devoted he was, he never seemed to satisfy Reginald’s standards. He was given few new responsibilities and most often his title meant little more than serving as the other team captain during group training exercises. However, an increasing amount of his personal training time was being dedicated to surveillance, with Reginald pulling him aside for lessons in navigating police scanners and picking out deep web leads towards planned crimes. 

Allison saw the outside world more often than any of them. Her power required others to practice on, and environments that allowed her to push the limits of what she could do— what she could get _other people_ to do. At first, the expeditions outside had been an incredible luxury. She would report back in quick whispers the things she had seen in the outside world that was so unfamiliar to them beyond a bloody crime scene. After a time, however, she stopped volunteering information. Then, she began to shut herself away in her room as soon as she came home, answering the knocks of only Luther, and coming out only for meals and training. It was confusing at first, but after she came back one day with lips cracked and throat sore from speaking, bright red blood splattered in an impressive arch across her pale pink sundress, they stopped asking questions.

No one other than Klaus knew exactly what Reginald had Ben do. Only that he came back stained redder than Allison had been and was unwilling to so much as hint towards what or who the blood belonged to. It seemed that as the months passed, he grew unwilling to talk about almost anything at all. Ben had always been quiet, gentle, preferring a book over a round of boxing, but even for him, it was strange. 

Until it wasn’t. Until it became expected, the new normal. Until he was little more than a shadow, hovering in the corner.

Considering how similar they were in demeanor, it seemed that Vanya and Ben ought to have been the best of friends. But as Ben curled away upstairs to his books, Vanya pulled only her violin closer. Even as the others took on new duties, Reginald allowed for her’s to diminish until it was Pogo who stood by his side with a clipboard. Mournful strings wavered in the distant corners of the house, before being drowned out by the sound of feet on the stairs, running up and down until even Luther and Diego grew tired of the game and stopped fighting each other for the lead.

Klaus remained the lookout, even as the black circles under his eyes became permanently fixed in place. 

***

On their sixteenth birthday, Klaus was given his own practice room in the basement, just big enough to fit the hospital bed, equipped with padded restraints, a monitor, and a chair for Reginald to observe from. The walls were lined with cabinets containing files and medications, and whatever equipment Reginald needed for his experiments. It was sound-proofed to prepare for the inevitability of Klaus losing control of his emotions. 

Even with his powers artificially controlled, Klaus had not gotten past his fear of the dead. Somehow, no matter how many gruesome spirits he encountered, Klaus could never grow used to the mutilation he was forced to see. The insolation of the room made it so that when the ghosts pressed up against the sides of the claustrophobic cell, no one outside could hear Klaus scream until his voice gave out. 

By the end of his first session there, Klaus had silently deemed it the Crypt. 

That night, in the last fading hours of their birthday, Klaus lay in bed for hours waiting for someone to come, hope stirring in his chest every time that the harsh wind sent tree branches rattling against the window, sounding achingly like the knock of someone at his door. As the clock slowly drifted past eleven, then twelve, then one, his spirits sank with it. At quarter-to-two, Klaus got up and went to the door diagonal from his, knocking lightly. 

“Allison?” he called, barely daring to raise his voice above a hiss. There was no response and he cautiously turned the knob, easing the door against the hinges. But the bed was empty, still made even. Klaus stood, lost and confused, his stomach tight as he wondered if they could have left without him. Backing out of the room, he went to the next person most likely to welcome him, barely knocking at all before entering, calling under his breath, “Diego—” the covers were thrown back but again the room was empty, though the window was open, the curtains jerking in the wind. 

Now feeling slightly panicked, Klaus went to the third door, “Luther?” his voice was almost too loud for the quiet house but he didn’t care as he pushed open the door. “Lu—”

Luther and Allison were there, laying in opposite directions and asleep on top of his bed, the covers still made up, Allison’s feet next to Luther’s head on his pillow. They were undisturbed by Klaus’ entrance. He watched them, lost between feeling relieved and rejected. Quietly tip-toeing out of the room, he went back down the hall. He paused, hovering outside the door, unsure of what to do. Deciding to try one more door, he turned to go upstairs and jumped as he came face to face with Vanya.

“Fucking—” he gasped, forcibly quieting his voice as he tried to keep from shouting. He grabbed his chest, his heart racing. _“Jesus Christ_ , Vanya, don’t do that!” he hissed, now decidedly awake.

“Sorry!” she breathed, wincing. 

“It’s fine,” he said, more gently, his pulse beginning to return to normal. “Just, don’t creep up on me like that. Fuck.” 

She nodded quickly, whispering another “Sorry!” 

Klaus waved a hand to show that it was fine and they stood there, looking at each other in the dim light. 

“Are we going out?” Vanya asked finally. It was then that Klaus noticed she was fully dressed, her shoes on, as if she’d been waiting all night for someone to come get her. 

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Luther and Allison are asleep. I don’t know where Diego is. Haven’t checked on Ben yet.”

Vanya nodded, shifting hesitantly as she chewed her lip. 

“Want to come with me to see?” Klaus asked. He didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up as she smiled in affirmation. They slipped silently up the stairs, their post-bedtime adventures having contributed more to their stealth than their formal training under Reginald.

When they reached the third floor, they found Ben’s door already cracked. Slowly, Klaus pushed it fully open, breathing, “Ben?” 

He was sitting on the window sill, legs dangling down over the street below. At their entrance he glanced over his shoulder and gave them a weak smile. “Hey.” Ben slid out of the window and came to sit on his bed, patting the mattress to tell them to follow. Klaus and Vanya obeyed and sat down so that the three of them formed a sort of circle, their knees brushing against each other on the narrow twin bed that wasn’t meant to fit three nearly adult-sized people at once. 

“Do you want to go out?” Klaus asked for the sake of it, not even particularly wanting to go himself. 

“It’s too late,” Ben responded, grimacing in a flash that might not have been noticed had Klaus not been watching intently. 

“It’s not even our birthday anymore,” Vanya added, glancing at the clock on Ben’s nightstand. It was after two by that point. They would be aching tired the next day and Reginald wouldn’t hear any excuses for that, but at present, that threat did not hold much weight. 

“Happy Birthday to us,” Klaus started.

The others joined him, “Happy Birthday to us, Happy Birthday to—”

“Vanya— ” Klaus whispered.

“To Ben— ” she added.

“To Klaus.” 

“Happy Birthday to us.”

***

It happened on a mission in early January. It should have been a simple mission, nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. They’d managed similar crimes quite easily at a mere twelve years of age. The mission was something _so simple_ that Reginald had deemed it unnecessary to even supervise, allowing Luther to take the lead. And yet— 

Ben hesitated.

The thief— barely old enough to be called a man⏤ had lost his mask, knocked off by a stray shoe that Diego had chucked across the room, having run out of knives. It obviously wasn’t enough to kill him, something that would haunt Diego for many years. The thief simply dropped his gun when the impact sent him tumbling. From the ground, he stared up at Ben, at the Horror, unarmed and eyes wide with terror. 

And Ben hesitated. 

In the second that Ben went still, the man, _the boy,_ grabbed the dropped gun and shot Ben through the gut. 

Ben’s eyes went round. He gasped quietly, the Horror disappearing into a stomach quickly turning red with fresh blood. Ben crumbled. 

***

“MOM! HELP!” Diego screamed, bursting through the door, one step ahead of Luther, who cradled Ben, bleeding and limp in his arms, and Klaus who was running, stumbling backward, keeping pressure on the wound.

“HELP!” 

“DAD, PLEASE!”

Their screams overlapped each other as they rushed through the doorway. 

“Children, what is the meaning of⏤” Reginald stormed down the stairs, his lecture cutting off sharply as he saw them, Ben’s blood soaking into Luther’s shirt and stained down Klaus’s front and arms from where he held Diego’s missing jacket against Ben’s stomach in hopes of staunching the blood. 

“He was shot,” Luther said, sounding distant and like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Pogo rounded the corner, asking, “What on Earth is⏤ ” His jaw went slack. 

Vanya appeared behind Reginald, horror across her face as she stared, one hand going to her mouth. “Ben!”

“Explain,” Reginald demanded, rushing down the stairs. “GRACE!” Reginald placed light hands onto Ben, examining carefully. 

Ben breathed a wet rattling sound.

“So sorry children, I was recharging. What is the problem?” Grace saw Ben. “Oh. Goodness.”

“He was shot,” Luther repeated, his voice cracking. 

Grace took action swiftly and calmly, brushing past Reginald. “Luther, carry Ben to the infirmary right away.”

“Yes,” Luther responded immediately, relieved to have someone else there to tell him what to do, to make things okay again. 

“Was there an exit wound?” Grace asked, marching after Luther, the children and Reginald trailing closely behind her. 

“No,” Klaus shouted. 

“I see.”

They burst through the door of the med-bay, Luther and Klaus staggering to the bed. Luther set Ben down carefully, Klaus ducking awkwardly around his arms, his hand still pressed desperately over the hole in his brother. Grace took moments to dress in her smock and gloves. 

“Klaus, you can let go now,” she said gently, but firmly, placing her hand over his. 

Klaus hesitated, his huge eyes fixed on Ben’s pale and sweating face. 

“I’ve got him,” Grace whispered. “You’re going to have to move so we can work on him, honey.”

Klaus jerked out of his stunned state and nodded sharply. He let go of Ben and took a small step back. 

“Get out, Number Four,” Reginald pushed past him, having recovered from his shock and dressed in his own med garb. 

Klaus hesitated, still staring at Ben’s form, looking small and wrong on the bed that Klaus knew so well. 

“Please, Master Klaus,” Pogo said gently, taking his arm and shepherding him out into the hallway. “We need the room clear so we can help Master Ben. All of you, you must leave the room. We need things uncluttered and sanitary in order to help your brother.”

Snagging Luther’s arm in his other hand, Pogo guided the two out of the room, shooing the other three from the doorway where they stood staring. “There is nothing more you can do right now,” Pogo told them, gently. “You just have to wait for right now,” he paused, glancing over them. “And maybe clean up a bit.”

Klaus looked down at his red hands in detached shock. 

“Pogo! I need you!” Reginald called sharply and Pogo turned quickly. 

“I’m sorry, children. Please, go and wait.” The door to the med-bay swung closed and they were left alone, stunned and bloody and scared. 

***

They eventually stumbled down the hallway to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa and chairs.

“What⏤” Vayna broke the silence first, her voice tiny and shaking. “What happened?”

There was a long silence before Diego explained, his voice halting and measured. 

“W-we were f-fighting. Everything w-was n-normal.” As he spoke, Diego’s voice grew more strained as he struggled to control his emotions enough to get the words out. “Then… n-no one s-s-s-saw w-what⏤ '' Diego cut himself off, caught between frustration at his inability to speak and paralyzing fear for Ben. He couldn’t go on any further. 

Vanya didn’t ask him to. 

On one of the chairs, Klaus sat, staring down at his red hands and the black mist that swirled around his feet. 

“Luther.”

He jerked, looking up from the stain that spread over his torso in a reflection of Ben’s. 

“Can I have a pill?” Klaus asked, not returning his gaze. 

There was a sharp gasp of breath from Allison as they all froze, understanding chilling their bones. 

Luther didn’t say anything, but a moment later a bottle appeared in Klaus’ line of vision. He opened it and took one. 

***

At some point, Allison herded Luther into the bathroom and he came back in a clean uniform, Ben’s blood washed away. 

In the periphery of his vision, Klaus watched the Fates as they milled around, circling the room before hovering near Vanya’s chair. He sent a silent desperate prayer that they wouldn’t cut Ben’s string. 

Allison and Luther came back and sat down again, knees pressed together where they sat still and tense on the couch. Diego pried Klaus out of his own chair, pulling him down the hall and washing the blood off his hands as Klaus stood there, catatonic. He was able to dress himself, but Diego waited for him just outside the door all the same. 

*** 

Klaus crashed before news came. 

The ghosts faded back into the mist, the weeping woman who rocked herself by the fireplace growing quiet and the slurred mutters of the soldier missing half his jaw fading into silence. The Fates were the last to go, watching him with reproach. Klaus considered asking Luther for another pill, but his body felt too heavy and aching and he couldn’t form the words. 

***

Pogo came out first, his head down and gaze lowered. He didn’t speak. 

“How is he?” Luther asked, desperate for hope even as Klaus collapsed against the arm of his chair in understanding. 

“Master Luther,” Pogo said gently. 

“What?” Luther demanded, his voice cracking.

Pogo looked at him, long and quiet. “Your father will be out shortly.”

When Reginald came to them, he had already removed his smock. His face was drawn, his brows knit together, buried deep over his monocle. 

“Dad?” Luther asked, a child hoping for an adult to fix everything.

“Children,” Reginald began, his voice low and controlled. “I regret to inform you⏤” 

Allison sobbed, wet and broken. Klaus had been crying already, silently, hunched over in his chair for the last seven minutes, already knowing from the look on Pogo’s face. At Reginald’s voice, he sagged like a marionette dropped by a child who had lost interest. 

“ ⏤ that at eleven forty-two, Number Six was declared deceased.” 

“W-what?” Diego’s voice was strangled and wet as he stared at Reginald. 

“Ben is...dead?” Vanya asked like she couldn’t understand what was happening even as tears escaped down her confused face. 

“Yes.” 

“You, you couldn’t save him?” Luther’s world tipped on its axis as he stared at his father. 

Something odd flickered across his face before he answered. “The operation was going well for some time. However, when the bullet was removed, the wound began to bleed again. I believe that this physical distress caused his body to release a defense mechanism.” Reginald’s voice caught just a fraction before he could continue. “His powers were unconsciously manifested. In his weakened state, Number Six’s body was not able to support the drain and physical shift of hosting the Horror. He bled out.” 

There was horrible silence as the children processed what Reginald had told them, the sound of ragged breathing and tears clogging the air. 

Finally, Reginald spoke, “Tomorrow we will discuss what happened on the mission. All of you, go to bed.” His order didn’t carry as much force as usual, but he straightened his back with a harsh nod of authority and walked away, leaving the children and Pogo behind him.

***

That night, they each went to their own rooms and laid awake. Alone.

***

“Ben,” Klaus croaked, dropping the empty bottle of Reginald’s whiskey with a dull thunk. He felt like hurling but he wasn’t sure if that was from the alcohol. 

His brother stood in front of him, red gore running down his front. He looked like he was crying. “Klaus.”

“I’m so sorry,” Klaus moaned, reaching out to him. His hand phased through Ben and Klaus’ breath hitched. “I’m so sorry.”

“It⏤ it’s not your fault,” Ben whispered. He sounded small and scared and lost. 

Klaus couldn’t speak anymore, sobbing wordlessly. Ben sank down opposite him, shaking with tears that he couldn’t cry. 

When Reginald found him there, hours later, Klaus was sitting next to a pile of his own sick, passed out from drink and grief. Reginald, of course, didn’t see the ghost who sat watching over Klaus. 

***

“Why was Number Six alone?” Reginald asked. The remaining four Academy members stood in a line before him, barely staying upright. Vanya hovered by the doorway, not exactly ordered to attend but not pushed out of the meeting either.

“It was… chaos,” Luther admitted with guilt, devastated and ashamed. “I’m so, so sorry Dad. I failed, I⏤”

“I expected more of you, Number One. You are the leader of this team.”  
“I know, I know,” Luther croaked. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I⏤”

“Apologies will not bring Number Six back,” Reginald condemned him. 

Luther gasped, shaking.

“Nor will tears.” Reginald looked at him with disgust. “Leave. Let me think about what to do with you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Luther stood, straightening his shoulders as much as he could bear. He led them out of the office, a straggling and limping line.

  
  


“It’s not your fault, Luther,” Diego said quietly, reaching out to touch his brother’s arm. 

Luther jerked away, his eyes flashing. “You’re right,” he said, low and angry, “It’s yours.”

Diego froze. “What?” 

“It’s your fault,” Luther repeated, his voice louder as he rounded on him. “You were the one who threw the shoe. It’s because of you that Ben was distracted.”

“I⏤”

“Luther!” Allison interrupted, tugging on Luther's other arm, trying to pull him back. “You don’t mean that. Diego, he doesn’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.” 

“I⏤ didn’t...I d-didn’t,” Diego stuttered, “I didn’t m-m-mean too.” He looked desperately around to the others. 

“I know,” Klaus told him quickly, “You didn’t⏤ you didn’t shoot him, Diego. Luther is wrong, okay?”

“It was an accident,” Vanya whispered quietly, hovering a few feet behind them. 

“It was carelessness,” Luther snapped, “You need to be more responsible⏤”  
“With what, with my powers?” Diego snapped, anger creeping into his voice. “If I remember right, Luther, _you_ were the one who bent the door frame when you threw that guy against it. It was because of _you_ that we had to wait an extra two minutes to get out of there. How do you know that that extra time didn’t cost Ben his life?”

“Diego!” Allison sounded caught between anger and panic. 

“He died because of his powers⏤!”

“So now it’s Ben’s fault?”  
“It’s no one’s fault!” Klaus snapped. “Ben doesn’t blame any of us okay?”

They all stopped and stared at him.

“Y-you talked to Ben?” Diego asked, suddenly quiet and raw. 

“Um, yeah,” Klaus whispered. “Just, just for a minute. He doesn’t blame any of us he⏤”

“Shut up, Klaus,” Luther snapped. “You’ve never been able to use your powers properly without Dad’s help. You weren’t even able to tell us last night that Ben was gone before Dad did. Using Ben like that is so—” he grasped for the right word, “- _selfish_. I can’t believe you couldn’t even wait twenty-four hours before⏤”  
The accusation sent ice through Klaus’ chest. “I’m not⏤” 

“Fuck off, Luther,” Diego told him. “Klaus?” He asked, his voice raw as he turned to him. “Did you really talk to Ben?”

Klaus nodded slowly, shifting uncomfortably under the eyes of his sibling. “Yeah, I did.”

“When?”

“How?” Allison added.

“Last night, after we were sent to bed, I went to Dad’s office⏤”  
“So he helped you contact Ben?” Luther sounded excited despite himself. 

“No, not exactly⏤”

“Then how?” Diego pressed. . 

“I stole Dad’s whiskey and got drunk until I could see him,” Klaus rushed through the sentence, looking down at his feet as he felt their eyes on him. 

“That’s disgusting.” 

Klaus finched at Luther’s voice.

“ _I_ could see Ben if I got drunk enough.” Luther turned away, jerking his arm away from Allison. She looked hurt before glancing back at Klaus with disappointment and sadness clear across her face. Allison turned and followed behind Luther. 

“Klaus,” Diego said, his voice rough and tired and sad, “Now is just not the time. I don’t understand exactly what Dad does that helps you see ghosts but… I’m sure as fuck it’s more complicated than that. Don’t embarrass me like that again.”

Klaus wilted as Diego too walked away, leaving him alone with Vanya. 

“It’s okay, Klaus,” she said quietly. For a brief shining second, he thought she was about to say _I believe you_ , but Vanya continued, “I’m not angry that you lied. I...understand that you just wanted them to stop fighting⏤” 

Without speaking, Klaus walked away. There was a window he was sure no one would notice him leave through. 

***

“Today, we lay to rest Number Six of the Umbrella Academy.”

Klaus swayed, reeking of alcohol. His eyes slid in and out of focus as he stared between Reginald and the mutilated body of Ben’s ghost, listening to the speech in strange detached horror.

“He died in service to the greater good, as an honorable soldier should.”

Vanya gave a wet shuddering gasp. Allison reached out to pat her arm, sniffing back her own tears from where she stood, ducked under Luther’s arm. Reginald ignored her.

“Let Number Six be a reminder of the integrity that we strive for here at the Academy, and as a warning of what the stakes are, should you fail to live up to the standard that our work demands.” Reginald spoke gravely. His eyes were completely dry, without so much as a hint of red around the rims. Looking over them in stoic competency, he stood tall, his black coat and cane in impeccable condition, well-pressed and shined thanks to Grace’s diligence.. Reginald remained completely unruffled and unfretted as he delivered the eulogy for his sixteen-year-old son, who died on a mission that Reginald sent them on. 

“Now, Number Two, hand me the urn.” 

“Fuck you.”

That caught Klaus’ attention. He looked at Diego, eyebrows raised. 

“Excuse me?” Reginald’s composure broke as he stared at Diego, looking for once shocked and caught unawares. 

“I said, FUCK. _You_.” Diego was clutching Ben’s urn in shaking hands, but his voice was steady as he stared down Reginald. 

Slowly, anger overtook the surprise on Reginald’s face. “Number Two,” he spoke low and dangerous, his brow lowered so that the monocle dug into his face so deep it looked like it might cut. 

“How can you stand there and talk about Ben like that? _BEN_ , not ‘Number Six’. He was you SON! Not some, some _soldier_ at war! He was a _kid,_ and the only reason he was there in that bank was BECAUSE OF YOU!” Diego slowly lost what little control he had, snarling at Reginald. 

“Number Two, stand down!” Luther ordered, leaving Allison behind he went to stand toe to toe with Diego, glowering down his nose, taking full advantage of the couple of inches he had on Diego, Luther’s shoulders were tense, but he kept his precious cargo gripped carefully across his chest. 

“Move out of my way, Luther,” Diego warned. 

“No, you need to calm down.”

“I need to calm down?! Why aren’t you _upset_? WHY AREN’T ALL OF YOU SCREAMING?!” He whirled around, addressing the rest of them. Vanya hiccuped, clutching Allison’s hand harder as she cried, looking afraid and devastated. Allison looked between Luther, Diego, the urn, and Reginald helplessly, new tears welling up as she swallowed thickly. 

“My throat hurts,” Klaus rasped, looking at Diego with eyes sunken into purple and red sockets. 

Gritting his teeth, Diego turned back to Reginald and Luther. 

“Diego,” Luther started, sounding like he was trying to keep calm. “We all loved Ben. We’re all upset that he’s... gone. But,” he hesitated, blinking quickly as he looked for the words, he pulled the plaque tighter to his body, hugging it as he continued, “But he’s not coming back. And we can’t just sit here blaming each other, I⏤ I realize that. Now. It was _all_ of our faults...maybe mine slightly more than the rest of you because I’m the leader, but that’s not the point. The point is that, if we want to make sure that something like this doesn’t happen again, then we need to start training harder. We need to work as a team to protect each other, even better than we are now. Right? Sir,” He glanced back quickly at Reginald as if just remembering that he was supposed to be taking orders and not making speeches. 

Reginald nodded, oddly collected. He was being shown respect and admiration again. All order was restored in the world and he pulled his anger back into controlled distaste. “You are correct, Number One. For the sake of the Academy, it is best to resume training immediately. Of course, you may have the rest of the day off, but tomorrow⏤”

“Save it,” Diego interrupted, disgust biting around his words. “I already have a solution for how this isn’t going to happen again. I’m leaving.” He turned and began to walk away, marching across the courtyard with a straight back and long strides. 

“Number Two! Come back here now!” Reginald ordered, the calm evaporating. “You can not just leave⏤!”

“Oops, looks like I am,” Diego called, not looking back. 

“Diego!” Allison cried, panic in her voice. 

He paused.

Breaking away from Allison, Vanya took a few running steps after him, pausing halfway across the yard. “Please, we can’t lose another brother,” she begged, her tiny voice loud in the tense silence. 

Diego turned over his shoulder to look at them. “You could come,” he whispered, something like hope lying under the grief and anger in his voice. Vanya’s eyes went wide. She glanced back, looked at Reginald and his anger, and then turned to Diego. She shook her head tiny and unsure. Allison’s face crumpled in grief and Diego knew the answer. 

“Do not even think about it!” Reginald warned harshly. “Anyone who takes one more step out of this courtyard will be⏤!”

Diego flipped him off and started walking. 

Klaus, feeling unsteady and dazed but fairly sure he understood what was happening, called after him, “Diego, wait!” 

Diego paused again, just in the doorway of the yard. He waited until Klaus caught up to him. “Yeah?”  
“I⏤” Klaus hesitated, looking back at the courtyard; at the way that Allison and Vanya stood, lost and hurt and already mourning the loss of a third brother even as the second remained unburied. He saw the way Luther stood, posed between defensive anger and childish fear, and the way that Reginald stared at them, fire and warning in his eyes. He glanced at Pogo, who stood silent and grieving and panicked; and Mom who seemed dimly confused and concerned by the shouting if nothing else.

It was Ben, who stood dwarfed in the shadow of his own statue that made the decision for him. Ben, who was lost and hurt and dead, and who had no one but Klaus. Ben, who he could only see if he stayed. If Reginald kept shooting him up.

“Klaus?” Diego asked, looking at him, a tender vulnerability in his eyes. 

“Please let us put Ben to rest,” he whispered, stretching out his unsteady hands. Diego’s face pinched in grief and disappointment. He glanced down at the urn he still cradled close to his chest and took a deep, shaky breath. With a quick sharp nod, he set his jaw and steeled his eyes. Carefully, he handed the urn to Klaus, who drew it to himself protectively. 

“Take care of him,” Diego asked, quietly. 

“Take care of yourself,” Klaus responded. 

Diego nodded, quick and tight.

“And make sure you’re home for dinner, Dear!” Grace called across the courtyard. “I’m making a roast with mashed potatoes.” She smiled at him, warm and trusting and unknowing, her eyes unfocused and distant. 

At her voice, it looked like Diego might stay. He took one small and hesitant step back towards her before he stopped, looking back to Reginald and the statue once more. He set his jaw and looking back to her one more time said, his voice cracking, “Okay, Mom. I’ll be back soon.” 

“If you leave now, Number Two, do not expect me to welcome you when you come crawling back. I will not be so gracious again as I once was when I took you in, back when you were nothing!”

Diego was already gone. 

Klaus watched him go, staring after him long after he lost sight of Diego. When he turned around, the courtyard was filled with the eight of them, living and dead and robot, but each of them stood alone. 

Slowly, Klaus walked across the yard to hand the urn to Reginald. He still towered over him, even after the growth spurt Klaus had gone through the month before. Yet there was something about him that looked smaller than usual, perhaps it was the statue that stood behind him, staring down on his own funeral. 

After a long and heavy pause, Reginald nodded, resuming his aristocratic posture as he finished the ceremony. “I hereby dedicate this statue to the memory of Number Six, may it serve to remind you all of his sacrifice and of your great mission.” He turned and placed the urn inside the hollow of the statue’s base. “Let his body now rest in peace,” Reginald gave the final blessing and closed the door to the shine, turning the latch into place with a tick that resonated loudly across the silent yard. He motioned for Luther, who stepped forward and lifted the plaque he carried into place, covering the entrance to the tomb.

 _Let his body now rest in peace,_ Reginald’s voice echoed in Klaus’ mind as his eyes flicked to where Ben stood watching his own burial. _Emphasis on the body._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written before season two aired so yes, it is different to the canon funeral. But I think it stuck close enough to the spirit of the thing (I hope?)
> 
> It's not exactly the same as canon because 1) I didn't want to rewrite 2) this is an AU and 3) I think it would be boring to just recap cannon here so I'm ~making it my own~


	9. The Fall of the House of Hargreeves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hargreeves are shattered, even as Klaus and Ben try to put each other back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Here is the second chapter for the week :))  
> Heads up, from here on out this story does not have a beta. There are no hard feelings in any way between me and my former beta, who is wonderful!!!! But just know that any mistakes from this point are mine and mine alone. So don't feel bad about pointing out the inevitable grammar, spellings, characterization, and continuity errors I make as I somehow always miss about ten things even though I do read every chapter a dozen times through.
> 
> WARNINGS: Small content warning in the endnotes. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Throughout the trajectory of his experiments with Klaus, Reginald had taken his lines of questioning down several different paths. At first, he began by asking Klaus to reach out to the spirits that chose to be there in the room with them, demanding that he work more or less as a two-way radio for Hargreevs’ questions about death and the afterlife. 

Later, as he grew bored with the repetitive nature of those sessions and dissatisfied by the, as he put it,  _ lack of progress _ he’d seen in Klaus’ ability to grow and control his powers, Reginald began to demand that Klaus search for and contact specific people. He brought pictures of past inhabitants of their home and case files of unsolved murders or disappearances, ranging from crimes that had happened weeks ago or centuries beforehand.

It had taken almost six months of trying, but Klaus was eventually able to do so with some success, or with about fifty-percent reliability— which was, of course, not up to Reginald’s standards. If he was unable to channel a spirit, Reginald would simply adjust his dose until Klaus either started talking or passed out. Had Ben not died, Klaus was certain that they would have continued down the same path until Klaus either succeeded to a satisfactory level or he died of an overdose— whatever happened first.

But then Ben was killed, and the direction of the sessions changed completely. Forgotten were the mounds of manilla folders with mutilated bodies and school pictures from desperate parents. Instead, Reginald spent hours asking the same questions over and over, demanding to know every detail of Ben’s appearance. 

What had happened in the bank that no one saw. 

What it felt like to die.

If he remembered making the choice to return as a ghost. 

He questioned until Klaus’ throat was raw and he couldn’t keep his own answers straight anymore. From the corner, Ben stared at him silently with wide, scared eyes while Klaus spouted anything that made sense based on what other spirits had told him. 

The fact that Ben had not said a word during a single session didn’t matter, nor that he hadn’t spoken to Klaus since the night he first died. Reginald couldn’t tell if Ben was speaking or not, and it was the sibling code of honor to cover for one another. 

***

“Klaus! Duck!” 

He saw the gun pointed his way at nearly the same moment Luther shouted. Klaus dodged around the corner as the bang rang through the air. A sharp sting seared through his upper thigh and he gasped, collapsing onto the ground, clutching the burning flesh. Klaus lifted his fingers gingerly, seeing a mess of red was underneath and he quickly clamped the hand back down. “Fuck.”

There was a strangled shout and the sound of a body colliding with the opposite side of the wall that Klaus sagged against. He flinched at the impact. 

“Klaus?” Luther called, a note of panic in his cry. He jogged around the corner, immediately relaxing at the sight of Klaus looking awake and alive. “You okay?”

He grit his teeth. “My leg.”

“Shit.” Luther put his hand over Klaus’. “Let me see.” He pried Klaus’ fingers up, taking a quick glance. “Looks like just a graze.” The relief was evident in his voice. 

“Fucking hurts.”

“You’ll be fine,” Luther assured quickly, his calm leader persona quickly coming back to mask his moment of fear. 

“I still got shot,” Klaus protested loudly.

“You got  _ grazed _ .”

“Phff,” Klaus huffed. 

“Here,” Luther pulled a strip of white bandage out from his belt. They all carried a few basic medical supplies with them, or at least they had ever since Ben. He wrapped it tightly around Klaus’ leg. “That okay?”

“Fine. Thanks. Now can we go?” 

“Yeah, I think we’re clear. That was the last of them. Come on,” he held out a hand to help Klaus up. 

His injured leg nearly gave out under him but Luther caught Klaus. “Thanks,” he hissed, leaning heavily against Luther. 

They staggered around the corner. 

“Klaus!” Allison shouted, running down from the upper level of the gallery. 

“Just a graze,” Luther assured her before Klaus could say anything. “He’ll be fine.”

“I think we’re underplaying the whole I got shot thing and honestly it’s a bit⏤ Ow! Fuck! Fucking fuckity fuck!” Klaus swayed, pain coursing through his leg as he put too much weight on it. 

“For the love of⏤” Luther muttered. “This is dumb. I’m just carrying you.”

“What? Wait⏤”

Luther picked Klaus up and swung him over one shoulder. 

“Luther!” he protested. 

“Does that hurt?”

“No, but⏤”

“Then we’re good. Come on,” he addressed Allison. “Radio Dad that we had a minor injury. We’re leaving through the back to avoid the press.”

Allison spoke rapidly into her radio as they wove around the scattered bodies, some groaning, on their way out. 

Allison sat with Klaus in the back of the van while Luther drove them home. 

“Hey Luther,” he called as they sat in traffic. “Can I have a pill?”

He was given a confused look in the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“You know they’re basically just oxy right?”

“Wait, really?” Allison asked, staring at him. 

“Yeah?”

“But⏤” 

Klaus cut Allison off. “Can I have one or not?” he asked Luther impatiently. 

“Those are for your powers and emergencies only,” Luther lectured. 

“I’ve been shot!”

“Grazed.”

Klaus rolled his eyes and flopped back in the seat. “If you were the one who was shot you would categorize it as an emergency,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Grazed,” Luther repeated. If ever asked, he would be adamant that his voice absolutely did  _ not  _ shake. 

Despite his own instance that Klaus was not seriously injured, Luther hung around the med-bay while Reginald examined Klaus. The wound was relatively minor, only requiring a few stitches. As Reginald prepped a syringe to numb him, Klaus asked cloyingly, “You going to strap me down for this?”

“Are you able to handle yourself like one fit for the title of the Umbrella Academy?”

“I don’t even know what that means in this scenario.” 

“Klaus,” Luther warned. 

He shot Luther a dirty look. 

“If you can sit still, there is no need,” Reginald stated blandly. “Port.”

Klaus leaned forward and allowed Reginald to inject the substance into his chest port.

Luther watched with intense eyes, following the needle. 

As the relief came, Klaus let his eyes flutter in happiness. “Oh, I’m getting the good shit.”

“Language, Number Four,” Reginald chided. “Hold still.” Without any more warning, he began to suture the wound, Grace assisting with sterile equipment. 

Klaus bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling, focusing on staying totally still. He didn’t notice Luther watching him, too busy ignoring the dead that had collected in the corners. 

***

“Klaus,” Luther called.

He paused in his bedroom doorway. “What?”

Luther came down the hallway, stopping a few feet from Klaus, who raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Luther blurted. 

“Oh. Thanks?”

“Yeah.”

“Right…” Klaus scrutinized Luther like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Sure.”

They stared at each other. 

Finally, Klaus broke the silence. “If that’s all⏤”

“Dad gave you a lot of painkillers.”

Klaus blinked. “Yeah?”

“Like… a lot.”

“Right…” Klaus acknowledged slowly, not sure where Luther was going. “And?”

“The pills for your powers are just painkillers?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t…”

“Oh. I thought you did.”

“Klaus⏤” Luther stopped himself. 

“What?”

“I’m worried.”

_ This conversation feels weirder than being shot, _ Klaus thought. “Okay?” 

“That’s not good for you.”

“I know?” Klaus ventured, unsure where Luther was going.

“You shouldn’t take them so much or so often.”

Klaus searched Luther’s earnest expression carefully. “I _ know. _ ”

“Can, can I help?”

“You want to help me?” Klaus whispered. His chest expanded from the inside. 

“Yeah. If you just learn how to control your powers better⏤”

Just as quickly as the sense of hope warmed in Klaus at Luther’s offer, it was gone, doused out in ice water.“Wait, what?”

“You need to work harder. If you just mastered your powers, Dad wouldn’t be forced to dose you like that. ”

“What?” Klaus repeated, reeling from the whiplash. 

“The only reason you have to take those drugs is because you haven’t mastered your powers, and if you would just  _ do _ that then you could get off the pills.” Luther’s open earnestness did nothing to stop the anger that rose through Klaus, even as his shame bit down on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck off, Luther.”

He jerked. “What? Klaus, I am trying to help you.”

“No, you’re not.” He clutched onto his anger to keep from crying. 

“I don’t want you to⏤”

“Then talk to Dad about it!” Klaus tried to walk away but Luther grabbed his arm. 

“Klaus, he is just trying⏤”

“Trying to do what?  _ Help me?  _ Luther, you just said that what he is doing is dangerous! How can you say that?”

“It’s because you⏤”

Klaus brought the arm that Luther was holding up quickly and grabbed Luther’s wrist with the opposite hand, twisting it away. He followed the motion with his hips, breaking the grip. “Fuck off!” He took advantage of Luther’s surprise to escape into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Luther didn’t try to follow. 

***

“Master Klaus,” Pogo spoke gravely. 

In response, Klaus heaved again, curling over the toilet. He had mouthed off during training and was undergoing a round of punishment in the form of withdrawal. Apparently the only thing more important than Reginald’s ‘work’ was pinning Klaus under his thumb of control. 

When his wave of nausea faded, he sat back, wiping his mouth in disgust. Klaus leaned against the bathtub, looking up a Pogo tiredly. “What?”

“Do you… require assistance?” Pogo asked, oddly unsure. 

“Why? Are you going to get me a hit?” Klaus asked sourly. 

“Do not refer to your medication like that!” Pogo scolded harshly. He nearly immediately softened again though at the harsh sound of his own words. He continued more gently, “You know I cannot give you anything, Master Klaus. Perhaps some crackers to settle your stomach⏤”

“No,” Klaus cut him off. “I’m fine.” 

“You seem⏤” Pogo tried to protest.

“I don’t need your help.”

Resolve fixed Pogo’s face into regulated calm. “Of course. I should not have disturbed you.” He turned to leave, pausing with his back turned to Klaus as he added softly, “Forgive me.”

***

“Are you okay?” Allison asked quietly, watching Klaus with a slight frown. He looked grey where he sat hunched and silent in his place at the table. 

None of them had been especially cheerful since Ben’s death and Diego’s departure, but Klaus looked, for lack of a better word, half-dead. The black bags had become so much a part of him that they barely registered anymore on a usual day, but that night his eyes looked absolutely sunken, and his cheeks hollowed. He’d always been skinny, but he had never looked quite so ill before, and Allison felt a low pang of guilt creep up her spine as she wondered how her brother could fade so much without her noticing.

Klaus didn’t respond to her question and Allison raised her voice a level, “Klaus?”

He jumped and turned towards her quickly. Klaus raised a shaky hand and smoothed his nest of hair. “I’m fine.”

Allison’s frown deepened. “Are you? Klaus, you look—”

“No talking at the dinner table,” Reginald ordered flatly as he entered. 

Klaus turned towards his plate, thankful for the excuse to break Allison’s soul-boring stare, though he could feel her gaze on him still.

“Three, eat,” Reginald snapped, not looking up from his own roast.

Regretfully, Allison turned towards her own plate, eating mechanically as she thought about skinny arms and the dead and for the first time in years, medical ports. 

***

In late June, Vanya brought Reginald a pamphlet for a private school for the performing arts. She placed it on the breakfast table silently and Reginald stared at it for a long minute, not saying anything. When he finally looked up, he gave Vanya an expecting look, waiting for her to explain. 

“Sir,” she stared, quietly but firmly. “I feel that my music is the only gift that I have to offer. I performed at a satisfactory level for the instructors at Carnegie Mellon last summer, and I believe that they would provide recommendations if I told them I wanted to apply here. I know that I can not contribute anything here to make you proud, Sir, but I hope that I could do so by exceeding as a violinist. If you would permit me to go, Sir.” She stood straight as Reginald always insisted they should, but her eyes were fixed on the ground, her shoulders raising in minuscule increments as she spoke. 

Reginald gave her one last long considering glance before turning back to his breakfast. “If you are able to pass the audition process, you may go.”

Vanya blinked, surprised even beyond her greatest hopes. “Th-thank you, Sir,” she finally managed to stutter out, “I will make you proud.” She went to her seat and took her place, allowing herself a small smile as she tucked into her eggs. The others watched her, surprise clear across their faces, at least in part caused by the fact that she actually spoke. Allison was about to ask something but Reginald started lecturing on what their schedule for the day was going to be and she went back to her breakfast.

***

“Is Number Six here?” Reginald asked dryly as the high washed over Klaus. 

He opened his eyes and found Ben almost immediately, even in the sea of the dead that had materialized around him. He stood silently, watching Klaus with mournful eyes, his still boyish and short body framed by the adults who moaned and wailed and begged Klaus to do something. 

“Yes.”

“Very good.”

A fragment of pleasure at the approval spiked through Klaus, though it was almost immediately pushed aside by forcibly remembering himself that he didn’t care what Reginald thought of him. _ He didn’t.  _

“We are going to do something a little different today, Number Four.”

Those words were never exciting but Klaus couldn’t do anything about it.

“Today, I want to see if Number Six has control over his ghostly form.”

Klaus wrinkled his brows.

“Today, Number Six will attempt to harness the Horror.”

Ben made a strained whining sound and Klaus looked to him quickly. His eyes were wide in confusion and fear. 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Klaus told Reginald. 

“Number Four,” he warned. 

“Ben’s guts are hanging out, I don’t think he’s going to be able to do much with them.”

“You must help him.”

Klaus and Ben shared a quick incredulous look. “How?”

“The connection between you must deepen and strengthen.” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific. I don’t know what that means.”

“Focus, Number Four. Bring Six closer to the real world.”

Okay, so Klaus was starting to suspect that Reginald didn’t know what he was talking about either. But Klaus doubted he would appreciate that being pointed out. Not bothering with fruitless arguing, Klaus rolled his eyes back up to the ceiling and pretended to concentrate. After a minute he said, “I’m getting nothing.”

“Four—”

“You want me to talk to the woman with the feeding tube? She’s being loud. It seems like she’d be willing to talk.”

“I want you to work with Number Six.  _ Now _ , Four. You must actually put forth an effort. I can tell when you do not do so.”

Klaus’ cheek twitched as he tried to keep himself from scowling. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to look like he was trying, curling his fingers into fists at his side. He held his breath, letting his face turn red until he couldn’t take it anymore. His eyes flew open and he gasped, gulping down air in relief. 

Reginald had leaned forward in his chair and was watching him intently. “What happened? Did you strengthen the connection?” He glanced around the room like he might be able to see Ben. 

Klaus stole a quick glance at the corner where Ben still stood. He gave a tiny shake of his head again and Klaus answered lightly, “Nope.” 

Reginald stood and threw his notes in one angry motion. “You are not trying, Number Four! 

Klaus flinched back, his eyes wide. “No,” he whispered, Reginald’s face turned ugly in rage and Klaus’ eyes widened, “I mean, I  _ can’t. _ I’m sorry, I tried, I can’t—”

“Then perhaps you need a little more help,” Reginald’s voice was low and dangerous as he prowled towards Klaus. He picked up the vial that still sat on the wheeled tray that stood next to the bed and unwrapped a second needle. As the second dose slid into his port, Klaus’ eyes rolled back as the world faded from his reality, and sounds echoed through the void, blurring together until he couldn’t tell one word from another beyond his name, repeated over and over again. Just as he lost conscience, Klaus heard one break away from the others, Ben’s familiar voice pitched high in worry. 

“Klaus?”

  
  


Klaus opened his eyes to a gray sky, streaked with thin white clouds, like a negative of the cloudy spirits he saw while sober in the land of the living. Klaus became aware of the babbling sound, different from the last time he was there⏤ if where he was, was in fact, the same place. He turned his head and saw a river to his left with a small waterfall that fed into it. He moved his hand slowly across the ground, realizing that it felt firmer than the grass that he’d woken up in before. Klaus was laying on a smooth rock, so polished that it seemed unnatural, like the pretty colored pebbles that could be bought in a museum gift store. 

“Again?”

Klaus looked up the river bank and saw the same girl, unaged since the last time he’d seen her, wading in the river, her dress damp around the hem. 

“Sorry?” 

She sighed, exasperated. “What are you doing here?”

“Trust me,” Klaus grumbled, slowly sitting up. “Wasn’t my idea.”

“Well then, go back.” The little girl made a shooing motion, turning back to her task, plucking small stones off the bottom of the river turning them over in her hands consideringly. 

“But I⏤”

Klaus gasped, the dreary color of the Crypt impossibly bright as the familiar sting of electricity jerked through his chest. 

“He’s back,” Reginald breathed, stepping back.

“Are you alright, Klaus dear?” Grace smoothed the damp hair back from his forehead and Klaus melted under her soft hand, relieved enough in the moment that any fear was gone.. 

“Fine,” he rasped. There was a long silence before he asked, glancing at Reginald out of the corner of his eye. “How long?”

“Three minutes.”

Klaus nodded to himself, far too unaffected by that information to be healthy. 

“Do you⏤”

“No.”

Reginald didn’t ask anything else. He walked to the edge of Klaus’ bed and looked down at him for a long moment. Reginald stretched out a hesitant hand, hovering over Klaus’ arm like he might place it there in some strange gesture of comfort. 

Klaus cringed back into the bed, his brave front forgotten in the post-revival blur. 

Reginald jerked his arm back and left without another word, leaving Klaus and Grace behind to tend to his newest cuts and bruises. As she bandaged his arm, Grace told him that his old sickness had flared up again and he needed to get some rest, but he would feel better soon. Before he fell asleep again, Klaus saw Ben standing on his other side, his expression pained and hopeless. 

***

Hours later, Klaus was curled in bed, the last lingering traces of his high still clinging on, bringing Ben in and out of focus. His voice was muffled and quiet like it was coming from far away, and Klaus closed his eyes, taking deep slow breaths as he tried to focus on the idea of pulling Ben towards him, picturing his form solid and real beside him. 

“Klaus?” Ben’s voice came in, clear and loud.

Klaus opened his eyes. Ben stood there in sharp focus, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to hold in the limp entrails and tentacles that dangled from his split stomach. 

“Hey, Benny,” he whispered, cracking a soft sarcastic smile as if it wasn’t the first time in months that he really heard Ben’s voice. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I— I didn’t help you. I didn’t want to… it might have been my fault.”  
Klaus smiled at Ben’s naivete. “Thank you, Ben. But I doubt it would have made a difference. Honestly, I have no idea where he gets his ideas for what to try. I think he was a dartboard or a wheel somewhere that he uses to randomly select new power applications to try.

And you know  _ Daddy dearest, _ he is never happy with anything that goes outside his plan. What you’ve sampled over the past couple months has been a pretty good representation of what he’s been doing since we were twelve.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. 

Ben watched him, sadly. “Why didn’t you tell me what it was like?”

“Why haven’t you ever told me what Dad did to you while you were training?” Klaus asked flatly. He stared at Ben with half-lidded eyes, looking exhausted by his shock and outrage.

Ben didn’t have anything to say to that and he snapped his jaw shut, staring down Klaus for a long pause. “Okay, fine. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Klaus sat up. “Umm, Ben? I really don’t want to see your—”

“Ha. _Ha._ You know what I meant. I saw what Dad does to you, I’ll tell you what he did to me.”  
Klaus let the jokes fall aside and listened quietly as Ben began to speak of the objects, and then animals that Reginald asked him to dismember. He told of the punishments that would follow should he disobey, how Hargreeves would kill the creature anyway, letting it suffer, and how Ben finally gave in because he knew that he could at least make it happen too quickly for the poor things to feel much pain. 

When he’d graduated to killing humans on missions, Ben had nearly broken again. But Reginald would impose the same punishments on any of them who failed to fulfill the mission in a satisfactory way— with harsh words and pain and hunger. He told Klaus how Reginald would degrade him if he cried, calling him weak and useless and unworthy.

How he hated the Academy and wished that he’d left the way Diego had, how he wished he’d managed to get away before it killed him. 

And, finally, how he had hesitated the night he was killed. How once the mask was removed and he was forced to stare into the eyes of the thief only a few years older than himself, Ben found he could no longer force himself to comply with Reginald’s demands, and how the boy had taken that chance to defend himself. That seeing the look of terror on his face confirmed what Ben knew to be true— that he was the monster, not the hero.

When he finally finished, there was a long and heavy silence as Klaus mulled over what he’d been told. Finally, gently, he told Ben, “You are the last person that I would call a monster, Benny. You haven’t done anything that the rest of us didn’t do too.”

“No one had a higher kill rate than me,” he whispered. 

“That’s only because you literally had more arms than the rest of us. If it were physically possible for Diego to throw more knives he would have. Or for Luther to crush more windpipes at once. Or what about the time Allison rumored a dozen traffickers into jumping out a window?”

“That doesn’t mean that what I did wasn’t wrong too,” Ben snapped, curling tighter around himself. 

Klaus contemplated that briefly before speaking. “I know,” he said finally, so softly it was barely audible. “But what would have happened to you if you didn’t do it?”

“I would have been punished but—” Ben’s voice was rising in volume now, “but whatever Dad could do to me is better than the things that I did, I should have resisted harder—”

“Ben, you did what you could. Even if you did resist, even if you withstood every beating, even if you never did a single _ thing  _ that Dad asked you to do, what do you think he would have done? If you weren’t useful to him?”

Ben stared at him, unsure. 

“He would have thrown you out, Ben. If he couldn’t get you to comply with his orders then you would be useless to him. Reginald has no room for uselessness.”

“So what? Diego is out there— why couldn’t I be?”

“Because Ben, like it or not, Diego can blend in more.”

Ben started to speak but Klaus cut him off.

“I know you look ‘normal’ enough when the Horror is concealed. That’s not the point. When you’re a kid on the street you’re going to need to defend yourself. And face it, Ben, you’re not the strongest at hand-to-hand combat without your power to help. I mean, I know that I’m not either, don't get me wrong— but if it came to a life or death situation, you would need to use your powers. And then what? Do you have any fucking idea of what they would have done to you? Captured you, experimented on you, fucking  _ dissected _ you—”

“Jesus, Klaus. What the fuck are you thinking about that for?”

“It’s true isn’t it, though?”

“I— I don’t know,” Ben snapped, a note of doubt wavering in his voice. 

“You know I’m right,” Klaus told him, his voice falling again, calmer. “I’ve thought it over a hundred times,” he admitted. 

Ben looked at him. “You have?”

“I… thought about running away before. What would happen to me… what would happen to you if you came with me— what would happen to any of us if we left. I worry about Diego all the time, though I feel like out of all of us, he is probably the best suited to being on his own.” Klaus’ eyes were far away as he spoke, lost in thought and in worry that he wouldn’t often let himself feel. 

Ben took a long pause, watching Klaus and thinking. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. 

Klaus finally looked back at him like he was remembering that Ben was there. “I am?”

“Maybe,” he allowed, “maybe everything you said is true, but..” he struggled to find what he wanted to say. “But I can’t forgive what I did.”

Klaus laughed rough and bitter. “And that’s what it means to be a part of the Academy. Talk about team bonding.” He grinned wildly. 

Ben didn’t laugh. He watched him for a long time before he said, “I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Me too,” Klaus agreed quietly, his smile sliding away. 

“I wish I wasn’t—” his voice broke and he lifted his arms in a small helpless gesture. “I wish I didn’t look like a nightmare.”

“I’m so sorry, Benny,” Klaus’ eyes burned as Ben’s form flickered out of focus again. “I wish you were whole too,” he whispered, slumping back down onto the bed, curling tightly into a fetal position. Before he fell asleep, he thought he could see Ben’s face hover over his side one more time as he fell to black. 

***

At the end of July, Vanya passed her audition. Grace threw a small celebration, which Luther left pretty early because he needed to go over new strategy plans in his room. Klaus was there but spent most of the time curled in an armchair, taking sips out of the water bottle he’d filled with the cheap vodka he’d lifted from a corner store early that week. 

He was conducting his own experiment, trying to balance his buzz so that he’d be able to make out Ben lingering by the fireplace while still being able to drown out the ghost who stood near his head, begging him to look at her, her sternum crushed in from where the steering wheel had slammed into it. Blood dripped down from her nose and disappeared before it could splash against his face.  _ Thank goodness for small miracles,  _ he thought dully. 

Turning his attention more fully to Vanya, who sat alone on the other side of the room, pushing her pie around on her plate, he thought about going over to her. The Fates stood in the corner behind her chair, but over the years Klaus had grown less affected by them. Despite what Reginald had told him, they never did anything especially dangerous. They mostly just moped around. Which, considering the screaming and begging that other ghosts seemed to prefer, Klaus grew to have a strange affection for them. Or at least a mild neutral indifference, which was about as positive a feeling as he could have for a ghost other than Ben.

As for Klaus and Vanya, they didn’t have much in common, but she was going to be leaving, perhaps for good. Before he could figure out how to get to her without making it too obvious that he was walking around the body of the Civil War soldier who lay on the carpet, moaning over the loss of his leg, Allison beat him to it. She settled down next to Vanya and began speaking quietly enough to her so that, even without the ghost yelling in his ear, Klaus wouldn’t have been able to make out what she was saying.

He watched them dully. Allison was leaning forward intensely, her expression pleading. Vayna’s face quickly slid from surprise to closed and blank. She leaned back a hair as Allison tried to close the gap. If Klaus was any less drunk, it would have intrigued him more. But seeing as he was starting to tip into sleepiness and his head hurt from the noise of the dead, he watched it pass with only mild interest. 

Allison’s pleading, “ _ Please _ , if you talk to Dad, he might think about it. I just want to⏤”

And Vanya’s, “I can’t⏤” floated in rising and falling tones across the living room. 

It didn’t seem to involve Klaus and he doubted anyone would really care if he left. Not even Reginald was there to notice Klaus finally departing, having himself retired to his study almost immediately after dinner.

Klaus stumbled up the stairs to his room, followed by the car accident girl. No one called after him. 

***

Klaus wore sunglasses outside to wave goodbye to Vanya’s car the next morning. Reginald looked at him with disgust and annoyance that was mirrored almost perfectly on Luther’s face. Grace patted Vanya gently on her back and straightened her clothes, smiling proudly. 

Vanya looked at Reginald hesitantly, waiting for him to say something. 

“You’re going to be late,” Reginald told her flatly. 

Her expression wavered, her eyes obviously damp. She bit her lip and nodded swiftly, turning to Luther. “Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, Vanya,” Luther gave her a small smile but didn’t move to hug her, staying stiff next to Reginald. 

“Bye,” she whispered to Klaus. 

Feeling a little awkward but sorry for her, Klaus carefully wrapped her in a hug. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured into her ear. 

She squeezed him tightly, holding on for just a beat too long. 

Finally, Klaus stepped back. “You’re going to be late,” he reminded her gently. 

“Right.” Vanya wiped her eyes quickly. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” She gave one last look at all of them before hurrying down the steps to the car where Pogo was waiting for her. 

Allison didn’t come down for the parting. 

Vanya didn’t ask where she was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of animal cruelty. Non-graphic and very brief. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, especially with the characterizations in this chapter!!! 
> 
> Love,   
> Aye of Newt


	10. Paper Over Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus finds his way back to one of his siblings, only to lose yet another.
> 
> Reginald is hoisted with his own petard. 
> 
> Ben has... changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end

Allison managed to corner him on his way to bed after showering one evening in mid-September. “Klaus?” she called. 

He paused, his damp hair leaving trails of water down the back of his Academy tee-shirt, which despite having been made for him, hung loose and awkward on his frame, leaving a glimpse of his sharp collarbone exposed.“What, Allison?” Klaus asked, a little snippy but sounding more tired than anything. 

She frowned, a bit taken aback. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I noticed how,” she seemed to search for the correct word, “ _ tired  _ you started looking months ago, but when I asked you about what was going on you brushed it off. I let it go, thinking that it might be nothing and you would get better… but you didn’t. You’ve been looking worse actually.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows. 

“Look. I’m sorry I didn’t follow up sooner, but you know⏤ things got busy.” Allison sighed, shifting worriedly.

Klaus looked at her like he was studying an odd wildlife specimen he didn’t quite understand. “I’m fine,” he said finally, slowly like he was waiting for her to shout ‘ _ got ya’. _

Allison was unconvinced. “You look awful, Klaus—”

“Gee,  _ thanks _ , Al.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. You look sick and too skinny and I’m worried about you.” She seemed almost embarrassed by her admission.

He watched her with an unreadable expression. “Why, Allison?” Klaus sounded exhausted and so old as he looked at her. “Why do you care?”

She jerked back, surprised, and a little hurt. “What do you mean? I care because you’re my brother, Klaus.”

Klaus smiled bitterly. “Am I?”

“What does that even mean?”

“When was the last time we talked?” Klaus asked. 

“Come on—”

“You know what I mean. Talked like this.” There was no venom in his voice, just a strange, detached sadness. They had stopped playing fashion show after that horrible night Klaus wore his dress to dinner, and their relationship seemed to have died along with the game, the afternoons spent giggling and sharing crushes fading into nothing but withered memories.

“I don’t know,” Allison admitted. “But I’m asking now, Klaus. What’s going on with you? You’ve been so quiet ever since Ben—” she couldn’t quite finish. It had been months, but the wound was still fresh. 

He sagged slightly, shifted nervously as he seemed to weigh whether to say anything. “It’s my powers,” Klaus started hesitantly. “ Dad—” 

“Allison.” Luther interrupted from his doorway, looking serious. “I need to discuss the training schedule with you. Dad put me in charge of making the plans for this week.”

“Luther, can it wait for a second? I’m in the middle of something.”  
“The team comes first, Allison. Without— ” he stopped before mentioning Diego’s name. “You’re being asked to step up.” 

“I am taking care of  _ the team _ right now, Lu—”

“It’s fine.” Klaus smiled tightly, stopping the argument. “Your  _ job _ comes first, Allison. I understand. Really.” Before Allison could say anything, he disappeared into his room, shutting the door with a final click.

***

Vanya wasn’t there on their birthday, having left for Vermont in mid-August to take advantage of the school’s early move-in opportunity. She did call however, and at the end of the awkward conversation the four of them had over speakerphone, she asked to talk to Klaus alone. Luther seemed vaguely annoyed by that but didn’t protest, simply excusing himself to go back to whatever assignment that Reginald had given him. Allison gave Klaus a strange, suspicious look before quickly leaving. As he turned off the speaker and took up the receiver, Klaus thought he could hear a click in the background of another phone being picked up, and thought with mild amusement that if Allison hurried, she probably could have reached the second phone in the living room. 

“Hey, Vanya.”

“Hey,” she said softly, a little awkwardly. They hadn’t actually spoken since she called to let them know she arrived at school safely. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. For the card.”

Klaus had nearly forgotten about that. He’d found himself wandering through the greeting card aisle of a pharmacy at two in the morning a week or so beforehand, and had caught sight of the birthday section. There had been a sharp pang in his heart as he thought about how there would be three fewer people there to celebrate that year. 

He didn’t know where Diego was, but he knew Grace had Vanya’s address and there, perfectly placed at his eye-level, was a card decorated with a picture of Beethoven and a cartoon speech bubble that read, _ “Looking # !” _ . His lips had twitched and he plucked it off the shelf, thinking that Vanya might enjoy the pun. Klaus even paid for it— though he did not do the same with the candy bar he’d stuffed in his pocket. 

“Oh yeah,” he responded to Vanya’s thanks in a false relaxed tone. Klaus shrugged as if she could see him, biting his smile back. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

“I did.” There was a long silence as they stood there, each gripping the phone with bitter desperation of two people trying to patch a seemingly irreparable rift. 

“Um, do you like school?” Klaus asked finally. 

“Yeah,” Vanya said, a smile creeping into her voice. “I do.”

“Good, that’s good,” Klaus wasn’t sure what else to say.

“How… how is it there?” Vanya asked, awkwardly. 

“Oh, well, you know.” Klaus winced.

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly, “I do.”

“Hey, Vanya? Do you think that you’re going to come ba—”

There was a rustling sound on the other end and the murmur of another voice behind Vanya.

“Hey, Klaus, I’m sorry. I have to go. Did you have anything else to say?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. I just wanted to say Happy Birthday. So, Happy Birthday,” Klaus forced his voice to brighten and he forced himself to smile even though she couldn’t see him.

“Happy Birthday to you too,” Vanya said gently. They paused again, each waiting for the other to say something. “Well, thanks again. For the card. Have a good birthday, Klaus.”

“Thanks, Vanya,” Klaus said, more gently, “You too.” 

“I have to go,” Vanya said regretfully.

“Okay, bye Vanya,” Klaus said. Before he lost his nerve or got too embarrassed he started to say, “And if you want to call again, you—” But the phone was already dead.

***

Several weeks later, in late November, Klaus was weaving his way in and out of crowds standing around the doors of bars, who stood smoking in groups and laughing when he saw the familiar outline standing on the other side of the street. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, his heart clenching in familiarity. 

“Diego?” he whispered, barely loud enough for himself to hear. Across the street, Diego started walking away, oblivious. “Diego!” he shouted. “Diego! Wait!”

Diego stopped, turning quickly as he looked around for the source of his name. 

Klaus waved frantically, jumping up and down, grinning. “Diego! It’s me!”

“Klaus?” Diego’s face crumpled in confusion. Klaus couldn’t hear his voice but he saw Diego’s lips move around his name. 

“Stay there! I’m coming over!” Klaus shouted, not caring that the people around him were staring. He glanced up and down the street quickly, hardly taking the time to actually look for traffic before running across to Diego. He came to stop just before him. “Hey,” Klaus said, his voice suddenly soft in the proximity of his brother. 

“Hey,” Diego said, staring at Klaus with a hungry relief. “What⏤ what are you doing here? Did you escape?” There was a trace of hope in his voice that sent flairs of guilt through Klaus’ stomach. 

“I’m just out for the night,” he admitted. 

“Oh.” Diego hid his disappointment well. 

“How are you?” Klaus asked quickly, trying to cover the pain that had raced through both of their veins.

“Good,” Diego told him, pulling his cover back on again like he no longer felt emotions. “I’m doing good.”

“Good,” a small amount of tension left Klaus’ shoulders. “Where are you staying?”

“I could show you?” Diego offered carefully. 

Klaus grinned and followed him down the street, telling him everything that he had missed at the Academy since he’d left, and Diego telling Klaus how he’d gotten a job at stocking shelves at a bodega and was working on his GED.

They arrived at a shabby but warm-looking building and Diego gestured for Klaus to follow him up the steps in front. There was a small plaque in front that named it as the  _ Williams’ Home for at Risk Youth.  _ Diego explained that he’d lucked out meeting the director at a soup kitchen only a few weeks after leaving the Academy.

They entered the building and Diego said hello to the twenty-something man who sat behind the desk in the entryway, introducing Klaus as his brother. He had to sign a visitor log before Diego could take him up to his room, but the worker smiled warmly at Klaus in a way that didn’t leave him intimidated. Klaus was actually blushing a little bit as they trampled up the stairs. The attendant was fairly cute.

Diego’s room was small but neat and clean. There were two beds though Diego explained that he didn’t currently have a roommate. “Maybe,” he ventured carefully, “if you wanted, you could move in?” He didn’t quite make eye-contact with Klaus as he asked, playing with a loose string of the comforter. 

Klaus was quiet, thinking of how empty the Academy had become over the past year, with losing essentially half of it’s remaining members in just a few months. He thought of the basement, the Crypt, and the sickness and pain of withdrawal and the way Reginald would stare down at him, uncaring, as his eyes rolled back with an unbearable high while the mutilated corpse of a murdered boy begged him for help— 

The dark mist that accompanied him everywhere swirled in what could only be described as an anxious way around and between his fingers. He thought of how, if he left, that that was all that Ben would ever be to him again. “I can’t,” Klaus whispered. 

Diego sagged and nodded like he’d expected as much but was still disappointed. 

“I’m sorry,” Klaus told him, genuinely regretful. 

“I understand,” Deigo responded, forcing himself to smile what looked more like a grimace. 

They talked about meaningless things for a while after that until the man from the front desk came to knock on the door and tell Klaus that he had to leave, visiting hours were over for the day. As he bent to pick his things off the floor, his shirt fell away from his chest, revealing his port. Klaus quickly pulled his jacket over it but Diego’s eyes darkened. 

“Take care of yourself, okay, Klaus?” he pleaded, looking him straight in the eyes, his own brows lowered in anger. 

“Of course,” Klaus promised back, his voice sounding hollow even to him as he forced a smile. “I always do.”

“And remember what I said, about you staying here,” Diego added, a hint of desperation in his voice. 

“I will.” Klaus started to turn away.

“Wait,” Diego quickly went to the small desk that stood against his side of the room. He ripped a scrap out of his notebook and scribbled something down on it. Coming back to Klaus, he pressed the paper into his hand. “This is the address of the building and the phone number. If you need anything, I’ll be here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Klaus whispered, his voice tight. 

Diego walked him out and stood on the porch until Klaus disappeared into the blackening night, silhouetted against the soft glow of light that poured, warm and gentle, from the home behind him. 

***

Ultimately, Klaus decided that it was too risky to tell Allison where Diego was in case she, out of misguided trust, told Luther— who regardless of Allion’s faith, would definitely tell Reginald. 

He did call Vanya, but she never responded to his message asking her to call him back. 

***

“What does he look like?” Reginald asked, his pen poised over his clipboard as he peered calmly at Klaus from the chair by the bed. 

Klaus watched Ben, who stood barely an arm’s length away on his other side. “Scared. Sad.”

Reginald’s eyebrow raised. “ _ Physically, _ what does he look like.”

Klaus swallowed, holding his flinch back. “Bloody.”

“More descriptive, Number Four,” Reginald warned.

Klaus ground his teeth. “He’s wearing his uniform, but, um, his mask is gone.” He scanned Ben’s ghost, forcing himself to actually look at the blood where he usually let himself glance over, unseeing. “His tie is gone too, I’m not sure why because he was still wearing it when we got back to the Academy-”

“It was removed in the operating room to increase airflow,” Reginald didn’t look up from his notes as he spoke, giving Klaus a sliver more precious information than he’d had before about the night that Ben was killed. Beyond what he had told them when exiting the infirmary that night, Reginald had never spoken about what happened in surgery.

It took a moment for him to recover before he could continue, “Um, there is blood. A lot of it. It soaks… everything. The whole front of his shirt is red.”

“His shirt?” Reginald paused, looking up.

“Yeah,” Klaus glanced at him, glad to have an excuse to look away.

“Interesting,” Reginald’s stare bored into him. “What does the shirt look like?”

Klaus looked back at Ben. “Red. It’s all, uh,  _ fresh  _ looking. Like it didn’t dry before he died.”

Reginald nodded. “Is it open?”

“No. Buttoned.”

“Really?” Reginald leaned forward in his chair, looking more excited than he had in some time. 

“Yes?” Klaus was unsure of where things were going.

“Was it always buttoned?”

Klaus thought back to the first days that he saw Ben just after his death. “No, actually. At first, it was open.”

“As it was when he died,” Reginald nodded, a creepy smile curling around the corner of his mouth. 

Klaus digested that, his face wrinkled in confusion. 

“What did that change?” Reginald pressed. “Did you do anything to change him? Or did he do it?”

“I… I don’t know,” Klaus closed his eyes, trying to remember. “It just happened. I— I don’t remember how or why…”

“It is essential, Number Four. Think!” The excitement had slipped from Reginald’s voice as it turned hard and pushing.

“I can’t—”

“Think, Four!”

“I just… I remember thinking that… I didn’t want to see the wound anymore. His stomach was hanging open…  _ exposed _ . And the Horror…”

“So you did see them, exposed like they were when he died?”

“Yes, I did,” Klaus whispered. 

“And after you wished his stomach was covered, his shirt became buttoned, even though it was never done up before, even though you have never altered a ghosts’ appearance before?” There was an edge of excitement to Reginald’s voice as he spoke. It sent prickling unease down Klaus’ spine.

“Yes,” Klaus said slowly, “I guess so… but I don’t think I did anything—”

“Marvelous,” Reginald breathed. “This will require much more extensive study and research.”

Klaus cringed into the bed, avoiding Ben’s worried stare. 

***

Every few weeks, Diego and Klaus found each other and walked the streets late at night, Klaus smoking lazily and Diego grimacing at the smell of the tobacco. 

“What’s it like?” Klaus asked him once.

“What’s what like?”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Not living in the Academy.” 

Diego took a long pause to think and let out a long sigh of air. “Weird.”

“Wow, thanks for that  _ detailed _ description.”

Diego huffed. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Well is it  _ good  _ weird?”

“Maybe, I guess.”

“You guess?” Some part of the dream that Klaus had of a life of freedom died.

“I mean, yeah it is better in a lot of ways. Like, no one forces me to run until I puke or flings knives at me to teach me how to duck.” 

“Well that’s something,” Klaus muttered.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Klaus paused, unsure if he wanted to ask, before continuing cautiously. “Are there ways that it’s worse?”

Diego took another long pause. “I don’t know if it’s worse,” he started finally, slowly, “but I feel… less useful.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, there are no missions. I just do school work all day.  _ Normal _ school work. Like geometry, not calculating the range of missiles that some mad scientist is planning to send to blow up Paris or something.” 

Klaus laughed. “Sounds weird.”

“It is. Being _ normal.  _ But I’m giving it a try.” He ducked his head almost embarrassedly at that admission. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Diego spoke again. “How is the Academy? I saw you guys on the news the other day.” 

Klaus brushed the question off. “You know, the same. And not the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re not there for one. Vanya is away at school. Ben is⏤” Klaus stopped, shaking his head quickly as if to rid himself of the memories. He continued, “It’s just me, Luther, and Allison now.”

Diego nodded. “You know, you could still leave,” he suggested tentatively. 

Klaus didn’t say anything for a long time. “There is someone I can’t leave behind,” he finally told him.

Diego gave a small intake of breath. “Ben?”

“I can’t leave him alone,” Klaus told him. “And I can’t contact him without⏤”

“You can really see him?” Diego asked.

“Yeah,” Klaus told him roughly. “I can.”

“And Dad’s experiments… are why you can see him?” Diego =asked slowly. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Diego nodded, the earnest hope on his face closing off. “Just⏤” he glanced at the bandages that peeked out from under Klaus’ sleeve, covering the newest cuts that he’d given himself from fighting against the restraints.

Klaus knew from experience that they would scar and it was a private joke that he held with himself that if anyone ever saw his forearms they’d think he was a cutter. Though at Diego's look he struggled to remember why it had ever seemed funny.

“Just take care of yourself,” Diego whispered. 

Klaus smiled too wide, the jovial note in his voice unconvincing. “I always do.”

  
  


Klaus didn’t go looking for Diego again, strange guilt gripping his stomach when he thought of the safe and normal life that his brother was trying to build and the mess that Klaus would inevitably bring to tear it all down.

***

In late December, Allison stood up in the middle of dinner. “Sir,” she started, Luther and Klaus were frozen, staring up at her, forks paused in mid-air, “I want to go to school with Vanya.”

Klaus actually dropped his fork.

“Sit down, Number Three.” Reginald didn’t look up from his evening newspaper. 

“No.”

Luther’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he stared at her.

Slowly, Reginald looked up. “No?”

“I will not sit down,” Allison said nervously but firm. “I want to go to Vanya’s school.”

“And do what, Number Three?”

Allison set her shoulders. “Act.”

Reginald laughed, the tension draining from his body. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her. 

“I am not being ridiculous,” she said, anger starting to creep into her voice. “I want to be an actress.”

“This is not funny anymore, Three,” Reginald told her, warning. 

“I’m not trying to be funny,” she told him. “I’m serious. I’m done with this place. I want out.”

Reginald rocketed to his feet, slamming his hand on the table. “You are not leaving this Academy! You are a member of this team, regardless of what you wish, Number Three. The world does not want you. Not as an  _ actress.  _ Don’t be ridiculous. In this world, you are wanted and needed for the only gift that you have— your rumors.”

Allison’s face turned to stone as he spoke. “You’re wrong,” she said firmly, still remaining completely calm.

Reginald flushed. “What did you say to me?” He asked, his voice dropping to a low and warning whisper.

“I said that you are wrong,” Allison said lowly, still deadly calm. “I’ve been  _ discovered _ —”

“Discovered—”

“I’ve been doing a community theater show for four months now,”

“What?” Reginald’s shock was apparent.

“What?” Klaus tried to think back to how often he knew Allison was  _ out _ recently. 

“What?” Luther looked betrayed. “Is that why you stopped wanting to—”

Allison continued, unbothered. “And I did another show before that. I was approached by a talent agent last week. He offered me a roll in a real movie. So whether you agree to send me to school first or not, I am  _ going  _ to be an actress.” 

“Sounds wonderful, Number Three,” Reginald patronized. “A brilliant plan to give up the only thing that will ever make your life meaningful— to act in some low-budget student film that will pay you nothing and leave you with less than when you began.” 

Allison watched him, stone-faced. Then without speaking, she turned away and began walking up the stairs. 

“Number Three, get back here now!” Reginald stormed after her, grabbing her wrist to stop her. “You—”

“I heard a rumor,” Allison started, her voice thick with emotion, a small waver creeping into it.

“Don’t you dare!” There was a note of something resembling panic in Reginald’s voice.

“Allison,” Luther whispered, his eyes huge and confused and hurt. “Don’t leave.”

Klaus was torn between grief and awe-filled respect for Allison. 

“I heard a rumor, that you let me go,” she whispered. 

At first, Reginald didn’t move, his hand clamped in a bruising grip around her wrist. Then, slowly, his fingers pried up and Allison was free. She stood there, watching him sadly. She glanced past Reginald to the table where Luther stood in his spot and Klaus sat shocked into place. 

“Allison—” Luther started, his voice breaking. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Allison turned left the room. 

Seeming to come out of his shock, Reginald started to shout again. “Do not dare walk out, Number Three! You cannot throw everything that I gave you away and think that I would take you—”

The door slammed closed down the hallway. It went totally silent in the dining room, each of them frozen in place, Pogo staring at the scene from the doorway where he’d just arrived at the sound of the drama, his mouth open in shock. 

Finally, Klaus broke the silence. “Fuck yeah, Allison!” He grinned. Not even Diego had dared use his powers against Reginald like that. 

Who, speaking of, was apparently in such shock that he didn’t say anything to Klaus. He just walked out of the room without another word. Luther didn’t reprimand him either. He just slowly sat down in his chair, his face totally blank. No one moved to stop Klaus as he got up and left, following Allison out the front door, for once not bothering to hide that he was escaping for the night. 

As he wandered the dark streets, smoking, Klaus kept an eye out for a sign of her. But even as the dawn started to soften the black edge of night and his legs began to cramp and ache, he didn’t see any sign of Allison. As his last cigarette burned down to the filter, Klaus resigned himself and turned to find the nearest subway station. There was no way he could manage to walk all the way back to the Academy in his exhausted state. 

*** 

With membership of the Academy dwindling and Reginald’s attention focused more intently on him by the day, Klaus’ need to escape only grew. By result, his criteria for what constituted safe night to sneak out lessened. The way that Klaus figured it, he already knew the worst thing that Reginald could do to him. Strangely, even as his fear of his father grew, something in him pushed harder to escape. Whether it was the shining part of the fierce individualism of Klaus that refused to be extinguished or vague suicidal ideation was unknown even to him. He didn’t tend to wax philosophical while sneaking out to the bars. 

It took a few tries for Klaus to get up the courage to go into any of the bars after what happened his first time out. But eventually, as his life shrank into a narrow sliver of existence, stretched thinly between pain and fear, Klaus was propelled up the stairs and into the dim light and thrumming music.  _ Nothing had even really happened last time, _ he scolded himself.  _ There was no need to feel… afraid.  _

He did learn one lesson from his first trip to the bars. After that night he was almost turned away, the type of places that Klaus frequented were not the type to ask questions. The bartender barely raised an eyebrow when he asked for a whiskey despite how clearly young he still looked. Klaus carried his drink close to his chest, weaving between the bodies that crammed the dancefloor tighter than seemed safe. The others all seemed blissfully unconcerned about absolutely anything, smiling in vacant loopy dazes as they writhed around him. 

The sense of loneliness was overwhelming even as people pressed up against Klaus from all sides. From the center of the dancefloor, Klaus caught the gaze of a boy who looked a couple of years older than him, maybe college-aged. He was tall, and handsome enough. He beckoned Klaus with one finger, mouthing something that he couldn’t make out. Figuring that the dancing boy was at least more age-appropriate than Bobby had been, Klaus threw back his drink with a grimace and slammed the glass down determinedly on a table. He wove through the other dancers and the couples only a thin layer of clothing away from having sex right there in the open and found his way to him. 

The boy watched him with hungry eyes as he placed a small pill on his tongue, rolling in back into his mouth seductively. He offered the small baggie and remaining pills to Klaus. For a moment, he considered saying no, or asking what it was. But as the boy smiled teasingly, patronizingly, at him, a small tether snapped, and the thing that made him care dissolved into nothingness. His tolerance was probably high enough not to worry. Assuming it was an opioid. 

Klaus took the pill and copied the boy’s motions, looking him right back in the eyes. The boy looked almost impressed before his lips quirked again at the way that Klaus swallowed a few times to get it down. He tucked the bag away in his pocket and pulled Klaus close.

The back of his mind, Klaus could feel the dead pressing up against the wall that kept them in the in-between place. He did his best to ignore them and sent a wild thought Ben’s way, unsure if it would do anything, asking him to give Klaus some privacy. 

Klaus let the boy wrap his arms around his shoulders as he pressed his body flush against Klaus’ own. He didn’t stop him as the hands dropped lower and lower, slowly turning from soft caresses to grasps. And when the boy suggested lowly in his ear that they should find somewhere more private, Klaus followed him while the world slipped out of focus and color streamed together, turning the back room of the club into an abstract painting. 

The next morning, all that Klaus knew of what happened was a deep ache, and the raw empty feeling of nothingness, his loneliness leaching from him darker and more present than before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Klaus (17) is implied to have sex with someone a couple of years older than him, approximately college-aged. It happens off-page and the most you see is some kissing and vague mentions of lingering touches. He is high at the time, which makes consent problematic, but in his mind, he does agree to have sex with the boy.* 
> 
> *This scene was inspired by Klaus telling Luther he couldn't remember his first time
> 
> TW: Very brief references to Ch 7 and the creepy guy who hit on Klaus. 
> 
> TW: Brief reference to the concept of cutting. No self-harm actually occurs.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please let me know if I made any dumb mistakes or if you liked this chapter lol  
> <3


	11. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus makes an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey. So. There is a veeeeery long chapter ahead, but it's a really important one. 
> 
> Warnings at the end

After Allison left, the Academy was all but finished. It had been dying for years— since Five left really, but with its membership down to two, the Academy was breathing its death rattles. 

Without Allison, Reginald seemed to become unhinged in a way that he never had before. His experiments with Klaus began to take up more and more hours of the day as his attention was divided over fewer subjects. By May, he was spending up to seven hours a day in the basement with Klaus, feeding him rolling doses of the serum, keeping him balanced at the top of a high until his heart threatened to give out, and even Pogo carefully suggested that Klaus might need a break.

When Vanya wrote to tell them that she had been accepted to the Manhattan School of Music, and had decided to enroll in the summer program and so would not be coming home— Reginald took Klaus into the Crypt and interrogated him for ten hours, pushing Klaus to speak to the ghosts until his voice turned to a rasping hiss and his tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth. He began making new demands, calling on Klaus to materialize the dead, drag them fully into the plane of the living, allow the spirits to inhabit his body, help them to move something. Things that for all his straining and dangerous doses of Reginald’s “help”, Klaus was unable to do. 

Somewhere in his muddled brain, fogged over with the drug-induced haze, Klaus wondered if Reginald actually had any reason to think that he would be capable of such things, or if his father had just stayed up too late the night before watching horror movies. Suddenly, that idea and the very situation that he was in was too ridiculous to bear. 

Klaus laughed and laughed until he couldn’t hear the wailing of the woman with blood all down her legs who cried for her baby, or the leering chants of the man in the tattered orange jumpsuit whose hair was burnt to a crisp from when he was fried in the chair. He didn’t hear Reginald’s curses either as his eyes rolled back into his head and he began to seize, his laughter cut off into unintelligible chokes and strangled whispers.

When Klaus woke up in a flower garden, white blossoms and pale gray leaves waving in the wind above him, he knew exactly where he was, though it had been some time since his last visit. He lay still, there on the ground, feeling the soft earth of the flowerbed below while the light scent of the plants drifted around him.

“Again?”

Klaus sighed. He knew she would find him. Slowly, Klaus sat up. 

The little girl was watching him, her hands on her hips. 

“Is this the Beyond?” Klaus asked. “Is Five here?”

“You know what it is, and that you’re not supposed to be here yet.” She crossed her arms. “Go home, Klaus.”

“Can’t⏤?” Klaus asked desperately, “Can’t I stay? Please.”

She looked him up and down. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a real pain in my ass.”

Klaus jerked to life, sitting up abruptly, cackling. Reginald backed away from the bed as Klaus listed to the side, alternating between coughing and laughing maniacally. He watched Klaus with a strange apprehension in his eyes. As Klaus wheezed, his laughs turning to sobs, Reginald turned and left, not even bothering to ask if he’d seen anything. 

Pogo lingered behind for a moment, watching Klaus with an unreadable expression. He hesitated, making a quickly aborted motion towards the bed where Klaus was slumped, half crumpled to his side, before turning and following Reginald instead. 

Eventually, Klaus’ hysterics subsided and he fell back against the bed, limp and exhausted. As he recovered alone in the Crypt, Ben sat by Klaus’ bed, resting his hand on the blanket just next to Klaus’ own, still tinged with blue in the aftershock of the overdose, like he could hold it by proxy. 

“Klaus,” Ben told him, “If you don’t leave, he’s going to kill you. Permanently.”

Klaus was quiet for a long time before he answered, “I know.”

***

As he downed an entire half-pint of bourbon, Klaus wondered if he was the first person to have died three times before he turned eighteen. He wavered between the living world and the land of the dead, the two swirling together in a formless mass, leaving Klaus on a cliff ledge yet unaware of how easily he could fall as he sang.

“Happy Birthday to us, Happy Birthday to us, Happy Birthday dear Ben, Happy Birthday to us.”

“Happy Birthday, Klaus,” Ben whispered, keeping watch over Klaus’ limp form, finally passed out, thrown like crumple trash on the floor of his bedroom. 

***

Allison’s first movie premiered in mid-December. Klaus saw the poster on one of his late-night walks, framed in light, her name penned above the header. She gazed down seriously at him, her face both achingly familiar and just parallel to the person he knew, tiny imperfections covered in makeup and airbrushed away. Klaus stared at her for several long minutes, fighting between loneliness and relief. It was too late to actually see the movie that night, but Klaus memorized the showtimes with every intention to come back. 

Four days later, he managed to find an opportunity to sneak out early. Reginald would most likely notice, but Klaus couldn’t find it in himself to care. As he lowered himself out the window onto the fire escape, he looked up and saw Luther watching him, one floor above. 

Klaus froze, locking eyes with him. Luther didn’t say anything but motioned for him to stay where he was. Klaus, stilled by the fact that he hadn’t shouted for Reginald yet and hoping that it would stay that way, waited. Luther ducked out of his window and came down the stairs, pausing with three steps between the two of them. They looked at each other until Klaus moved, squirming uncomfortably. 

“What are you doing, Klaus?” 

He twitched, trying to keep from rolling his eyes. “What does it look like, Luther?” he asked, immediately regretting it as he remembered that he was trying to keep Luther from ratting him out. 

Luther actually rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But usually, you’re at least smart enough to wait until Dad is in bed.”

Klaus had been pretty sure that Luther was aware of how often he snuck out but hearing him acknowledge it— and silently admit that he’d refrained from betraying him to Reginald— was cheering in an odd way. It made something warm, almost nostalgic, unfurl in his chest. “I’m going to see Allison’s movie,” Klaus told him quietly.

A dozen emotions flickered across Luther’s face before he shut them down, sliding his cool mask into place. “Oh,” was all he said. 

Klaus hesitated for a moment before he added, carefully, “Do you want to come?”

Luther’s eyes widened a little bit in surprise. He looked at Klaus, unsure. He glanced back at the house, to Klaus, to the street, and shifted uncomfortably. Just as Klaus was certain that he was going to say no, Luther said, slowly, “Okay.”

Klaus blinked. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Luther repeated. 

Klaus stared at him. 

“Are we going or what?” Luther snapped, smoothly exiting the window and brushing past Klaus. 

He stared after Luther for a moment before snapping out of his shock and followed him. 

They traveled to the theater in almost complete silence, with Luther staring straight ahead and Klaus stealing quick glances at him as they went. When they arrived, Luther started towards the ticket box but Klaus grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered, tugging Luther towards the side of the building.

“Paying for a ticket. What are you doing?”

“Sneaking in, obviously.” 

Luther yanked his arm out of Klaus’ grip. “What? No!”

“Oh come on, Luther. Be a rebel for once.”

“I’m not stealing from Allison,” Luther insisted angrily. 

Klaus paused. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted. Though he wasn’t entirely sure if ticket sales affected how much Allison made... 

“Of course not,” Luther muttered, marching back towards the ticket window. 

Klaus thought that he should be insulted by that statement, but perhaps he deserved it for the one time. He followed Luther.

They settled down somewhat awkwardly next to each other, neither of them taking the middle armrest, unused to being so close to each other in a non-combat situation. It was a relief when the lights dimmed and the commercials played.

Somewhat to Klaus’ surprise, Allison’s performance was actually very good, playing the young heroine fighting against sexism to gain entrance to a prestigious college. He smiled privately to himself— it was perfectly Allison. They stayed until the end of the credits and Klaus clapped wildly when Allison’s name appeared on screen (and perhaps several times during the film when she herself appeared) much to the annoyance of the others in the theater and Luther’s great embarrassment. 

It was dark when they walked back out into the city and started on their way home. The silence between them was less thick than it had been in a long time, feeling more tenderly comfortable than stifling. 

“She was good, huh?” Klaus ventured after a block or so.

Luther was quiet for a moment, “Yeah,” he agreed. “She was.” His eyes were far away as he spoke. 

Klaus hesitated for a moment before starting very tentatively, carefully, “You must miss her.”

Luther’s frown twitched. “Of course,” he admitted stiffly. 

“I do too,” Klaus said gently. He paused again, debating if he should say anything more before disregarding the feeling of uncertainty. “But it’s harder for you, isn’t it? She was your best friend. You…” he hesitated. “You ever think about leaving and joining her, or⏤? ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hostility had crept into Luther’s voice as he answered, speeding up. 

“Nevermind.” Klaus was prepared to let it drop, recognizing when to stop, but it was too late. 

“Why would you say that?” Luther continued, now marching in strides that Klaus struggled to keep up with. “Allison betrayed the Academy. She betrayed us. She _left_ us.” Luther’s voice broke before his face turned to steel and his voice was ice. “As far as I’m concerned she is dead.”

“What the fuck, Luther?” Klaus was starting to get angry too as he jogged to catch up to him. “What happened to the Luther of two fucking minutes ago who was proud of our _sister?_ ”

 _"Three_ is no longer our family,” Luther told him coldly, shaking off Klaus’ hands.

“Maybe she’s no longer your family, Luther, but I don’t leave team members behind you ass—”

Luther shoved Klaus angrily, sending him rocketing against the side of a building, slamming hard into the bricks. His shoulder and hip lit up in pain as his vision went black for a moment. Klaus stumbled a few steps, gripping his head. “Fuck, Luther.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Luther’s voice cracked and he turned away from Klaus for a moment. 

“Luther?” Klaus tried one more time as he saw a shudder run through Luther’s shoulders.

“Come on,” he snapped, shoving the moment of vulnerability down deep inside again as he pulled Klaus’ arm into a bruising grip, dragging him down the sidewalk. “We need to get home before Dad realizes what you’ve done⏤ what you dragged me into. _Fuck_.” 

Klaus didn’t mention that Luther had wanted to come. 

And, for what it was worth, Luther didn’t tell Reginald a thing about Klaus’ nighttime activities. At least, Klaus initially assumed as much because he wasn’t punished for it. Although, a few days after the trip to the movies, Klaus returned to his room after training and found that his window was nailed shut. Apparently, someone had realized that Klaus was using the pipe that ran down the side of the building as a make-shift fire-pole. And here he’d thought he was being smart, using a window that should have been impossible to leave through as his escape route. Of course, never one to be bothered by a small obstacle in the way of what he really wanted, Klaus pulled them out and left for the night anyway. The next afternoon the locks were crushed in so that the window would no longer open no matter how much Klaus strained. 

Luther confronted him on the way to breakfast and warned Klaus that he’d covered for him for the last time. He jammed Klaus’ window himself, as a deterrent and reminder not to step out of line again. 

Privately, Klaus recognized that the loss of one window would do little to stop him from leaving if he really wanted to. All the same, out of a small scrap of thanks for Luther, and a desire to avoid Reginald’s wrath, Klaus agreed, if just to appease his brother. 

***

Klaus tried to call Vanya not long after. She, thankfully, accepted his call, though Klaus got the strange feeling that it was with some hesitance. They exchanged awkward pleasantries for a few minutes before he asked her in a low voice so that he wasn’t overheard, “Hey, have you seen Allison’s movie?”

There was a tense silence before she answered, “No. Not yet.”

“It was actually really good,” Klaus continued. “Who knew she was so talented at⏤?”

The dial tone cut him off. Klaus stared at the phone for a moment in confusion before hanging up and redialing. Vanya didn’t answer.

Nor did she answer any of his ten calls over the next days, or return any of his increasingly worried voicemails. A week and half into the strange silence, Klaus received a letter in the mail from her. Tearing it open, nearly shaking in relief, Klaus found a single piece of notebook paper with only a few small lines printed on it in her familiar neat writing. 

_Klaus,_

_I’m really sorry, but I have to focus on school right now. I know I’m not doing anything as important as you are, but I think I actually have a chance to do well here. And well, you know Dad._ _~~He has standards that~~ _ _He wants us to do our best, and I want to make him proud. If I’m going to do that, I can’t have any distractions. It was nice of you to try and stay in touch, but you don’t have to pretend to be interested anymore. Besides, you probably have your own training to focus on too._

_Stay safe,_

_Vanya_

After finally sending the letter that took her several days to get up the nerve to write, Vanya waited by the phone every night for a week in the hope that Klaus might respond and tell her that he wasn’t pretending at all. 

_Of course, he would obviously disregard her statements about school work⏤ Vanya had never met anyone who had less respect for lessons or responsibilities. And even if he noticed them, those comments would surely tip Klaus off to the true message of her note. That as much as she genuinely wanted to please Reginald, Vanya didn’t mind it when Klaus called. It was actually really nice..._

Once she was reassured that Klaus genuinely wanted to speak to her, Vanya planned to in turn apologize for not answering his calls. She was honestly a bit embarrassed by her behavior. It really was silly of her to be so jealous of Allison’s success in the arts. (In what should be _Vanya’s_ one precious area in which she could outshine her siblings.) 

_Yes,_ she assured herself, dropping the letter in the box. _As soon as Klaus responded, she would explain it all to him, and ask him to forgive her._

Klaus read the letter twice, finding only a subtle jab towards his own failures between Vanya’s carefully composed lines. A small part of him crumbled at the idea that even powerless little Seven was a better Academy member than him. A better child to Reginald. 

If she really wanted to focus on her school, he shouldn’t stand in her way. Maybe she yet had hope of their father’s approval. Klaus knew he would never taste it, but he understood why Vanya still tried, even after all these years. 

Understanding did nothing to cauterize the wound of his newest loss. 

Klaus crumbled the letter, tossing it into the fireplace as he made his way back to the safety of his room. It burned in a single flare before crumbling to blackened ash.

He didn’t try to contact Vanya again.

***

Despite his lackluster technical skills, Klaus was still assigned to missions from time to time when he was sober and physically able to leave the house, though his job was mostly to be the lookout or play diversion. 

On days he wasn’t able to go, Reginald sent Luther out alone. Such situations had become a strange paradox for Klaus as he hated missions and worried about Luther in equal measures. As little as they had in common and as much as he got on Klaus’ nerves, he didn’t want to see Luther dead. He’d seen enough siblings die in his lifetime, thank you very much. Klaus planned on being the next one to go. (Well, technically he had already gone next, but he meant to do so permanently as well whenever the time came, be it sooner or later.)

The entire time that Luther would be gone on a solo-mission, Klaus would sit hunched, nervously chewing his thumbnail in the back of the monitoring room with his father and Pogo, the three of them keeping an eye on Luther through the body-cams Reginald had instituted after Ben’s death.

If Klaus managed to keep still enough, Reginald would most often let him stay. If he fidgeted too much, he would be banished to his room, where Klaus would pace and smoke until his hands steadied and Ben’s figure materialized, flickering as it might be, there to keep him company until Luther came home safe.

On the day the last lingering trendles of the brothers’ relationship snapped, Klaus was recovering from a long session in the Crypt and so had stayed at the Academy while Luther broke up a drug operation. It had been a difficult mission to watch, the villain's numbers being much higher than originally thought. Klaus held his breath the entire time Luther fought them, his nails digging painfully deep into his palms as he waited. Thankfully, Luther came back in one piece and mostly unharmed but for the large bruise on his temple and a long cut on his upper arm, though Klaus struggled to come down from his rush of anxiety even after he saw for himself that he was okay. 

After dinner, Luther sat in the living room, holding an ice pack to his head while he went through blueprints of a building Reginald wanted them, or most likely just Luther, to infiltrate. Klaus, still feeling a little sluggish but mostly back to normal, hesitated just around the corner for a moment before taking a deep breath and creeping into the room. Luther glanced up momentarily at his entrance but otherwise ignored him, turning back to his papers. 

“Luther?” Klaus tried, unsure.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up again.

“Are you… okay?”

Luther gave him a confused look. “Fine.”

Klaus was quiet for a moment, feeling awkward. “I’m glad,” he said finally. 

“Okay, thanks,” Luther’s eyebrows were definitely raised as he stared at Klaus like he’d grown another head. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Klaus added quickly, looking down. 

“Sure,” Luther muttered, marking something on his plans. 

Klaus frowned in confusion at his annoyed tone. “What?”

“Nothing,” he responded in a way that made it clear that there was something. 

“What?” Klaus insisted more forcefully. 

Luther sighed and sat back in his chair, staring at Klaus for a long minute. “I just have a hard time believing that, Klaus.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You haven’t come with me on a mission in almost five weeks.” 

Klaus flinched. “You know that because of my powers—”  
“Sure,” Luther interrupted, dismissive anger starting to creep into his voice.

“Would you stop saying that?” Klaus snapped.

“I’m sorry, Klaus. It just seems obvious to me that you’re not really trying. Dad has been putting countless hours into trying to help you be useful for actual _years._ And after all this time you’re more reliant on his help than ever. You’ve used your powers successfully maybe four times in the field. Now it seems like you’ve completely given up on even trying— you can’t even be the lookout anymore. It seems pretty obvious that you’ve given up. That’s why I have a hard time believing you.” 

Klaus felt cold as he stared at Luther, who looked up at him with superior disdain from where he sat, somehow making Klaus feel small even when Klaus was standing over him. His chest tight, Klaus watched Luther sadly, having no idea how to explain the reality of it as a small voice nagged in the back of his mind that Luther was right, that he was _useless, weak, stupid—_. 

Without another word, Klaus turned away and went to his room, closing the door silently behind him. 

***

“You know,” he told Ben, three days later, alone in his room, nursing a drink he’d made with fast food soda and alcohol that burned like lighter fluid. “You might… be right about leaving.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Really?” he whispered. The obvious hope in his voice almost made Klaus feel guilty. 

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Klaus looked away, shrugging awkwardly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Ben agreed, trying not to hope too much. “Okay.”

He sat next to Klaus, their shoulders an inch apart were they leaned back against Klaus’ bed, knees drawn up to their chests in the perfect mirror image of each other. They whispered long into the night, about what they would do if they were alive and free, and what a wonderful, impossible dream that was. 

***

For the next three weeks, Klaus carefully thought about what it would mean to leave. What he would do. How he would do it. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Reginald would let him walk out as easily as he did the others. He’d invested too much time and energy into training Klaus, and had only grown more obsessed and possessive as time had passed. Now, Klaus was certain, the only way to be free was to convince Reginald he was no longer useful. He resolved himself to at least experiment with the idea if he couldn’t yet fully commit to leaving.

A silver of his heart, awoken by Vanya's earnest plea, suggested tentatively that if Reginald’s experiments would just decrease a little bit, if Klaus was just run a little less ragged, Reginald might find something of value in him after all.

***

While there was nothing that he could do to pretend that he wasn’t high, with the calculated dose he was given and after years of practice, Klaus could control himself fairly well while under the influence. And, despite all of his trying, Reginald hadn’t been able to find a way to measure the presence of ghosts, much less who they were. Most importantly, although Reginald never admitted it, Klaus knew that a huge percentage of his fixation with Klaus’ powers was because of Ben, and to a lesser extent, Five. 

He experimented with Klaus’ powers before Five went missing, but it was only after that that things began to spiral downward, and it was after Ben’s death that things began to get truly dangerous. So, in hopes that without his main reason for experimentation he would lose interest, Klaus steeled his nerves one training session and told Reginald that he couldn’t find Ben.

Reginald froze. “What?” he asked, looking up from the monitors in the corner. 

“I can’t find him,” Klaus repeated calmly.

“Search for him then,” Reginald snapped. 

Klaus rolled his eyes but settled down in the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to strain for a minute or two before going limp. “I can’t.” 

A dangerous fire was burning in Reginald’s eyes as he leaned over Klaus’ bed. “I don’t believe that you’re trying, Number Four.” 

Klaus’ eyes widened but he held firm. “I am,” he whispered. 

“Try harder.” 

After three hours of interrogation of drugging, Klaus was beginning to hit his limit. “Dad,” he croaked, “he’s not here.”

“You’re slacking off, Number Four!” Reginald was becoming undone, his wispy hair standing up wildly and his usually immaculate suit rumpled. “You have never applied yourself properly, and now you are just—” 

“ _D_ _ad_ ,” Klaus insisted again, pleading and yet apologizing, “he is not here.” Klaus paused, stealing himself against his fear. “Ben’s gone,” he whispered quietly.

Ben stared at him, his eyes wide. “Klaus, I don’t know what your plan is but I think you should just—”

Reginald cut him off unknowingly. “You are making no sense, Number Four.”

“He’s moved on,” Klaus insisted. 

“What?” Reginald looked actually lost. 

“Ben’s moved on. He went… Beyond.” Klaus didn’t know fully how the transition over it worked, but Reginald knew less than he did and at the moment that was what Klaus was relying on.

“Beyond.”

“Ghosts stay behind because there is something still tethering them to the living. When whatever it is that is keeping them here is resolved and they are ready, they can move on. Ben decided that he was ready. He’s gone. I’m sorry,” Klaus choked out, his eyes brimming with real tears of fear as Reginald watched him. 

“How do you know?” Reginald demanded, grabbing Klaus’ shirt. He pulled Klaus closer, making the restraints dig uncomfortably into his limbs. “How do you know where he is?” He gave Klaus a rough shake.

Klaus’ heart was pounding wildly in his chest as he thought quickly. “He told me he was going.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I… I didn’t realize what he was saying at first. I was… _out of it_. He said,” Klaus focused every atom in his body on not looking at Ben, “that he’d stayed behind to keep watch over us but,” he paused, unsure if he should risk it before finally finishing, “but he can’t stand watching us get hurt anymore without being able to do anything and he just… needs to finally be at peace. I was hoping that I misunderstood what he was saying but now he’s gone. I’m sorry.”

As he spoke, Reginald’s face turned from rage to an unsettling blankness. Slowly, he let go of Klaus, his eyes glazing over. “Then we will have to push the limits of your powers further than we have previously.” Reginald slowly walked to the cart with the needles and serum. “Tell me, Number Four, what dosage do you think will be necessary for you to commune with the next plane? This _Beyond._ ”

Ben was panicking by then. “Klaus, Klaus, tell him you lied! He’s going to actually, intentionally kill you, Klaus! There has to be a limit to what you can recover from!”

Klaus pulled against the restraints in harsh jerking movements, bruises already forming across his arms. “Dad, _Dad_ , no. Hold on— that’s not a good idea, please—”

Reginald’s hand held down Klaus’ head, keeping him still. The needle sank into his port and Klaus was almost instantly flowing away. His control and floodgates fell away like the world had been tugged out from under him. The high was more intense than anything he’d felt in years and the dead were swarming him like they had when he was thirteen and inexperienced. Their wails were overwhelming and in his last moments of conscious thought, Klaus wondered if it was them or the drugs that made everything sound too loud.

Somewhere far away, Klaus was aware that Reginald was commanding him over and over again to tell him what was happening, asking if he’d reached the Beyond yet. Klaus’s thoughts didn’t make much sense to him anymore, but he knew somewhere deep and primal that he couldn’t tell him where Ben was. All Klaus could say was, “ _No, no, no,_ ” again and again as he faded in and out of the physical world.

After an immeasurable amount of time, Klaus finally came down enough that he could understand what was happening in reality again. He was aware that Reginald was moving around him, pulling something out of the cabinets along the wall. The thought of moving his head, or even his eyes, to see what it was felt like too much effort to Klaus and he lay heavy and still in his bed. 

“It appears that you need more assistance than I thought, Number Four. Perhaps this will help you to overcome your weakness.” 

Klaus didn’t need to look at him to track the familiar sound of bottles rattling and Reginald’s footsteps echoing around the tomb-like room.

Ben looked at the vial, resting innocently on the table a few feet from the bed, its label turned up, the small font standing out stark and black against the white paper. 

Fentanyl.

“Klaus you have to get out of here,” Ben’s voice broke as he looked at the wreckage of Klaus’ body, flayed across the bed in front of him. 

“I know,” he rasped, low and rough, and almost too quiet to hear.

Ben’s face crumpled like Klaus’ body so often was against the floor of the med bay, reaching out and placing his hand just a hair’s breadth from Klaus’. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he told him firmly. “Okay? Just hang in there for a little bit longer, Klaus. You’re going to get out of his house and I’m going to help you. You just have to hold on. Just hold on.”

“I’m holding on.”

“What are you holding onto Number Four?” Reginald peered over his clipboard, analyzing Klaus from where he sat a few feet away, a separate observer to the spectacle.

“I’m holding on,” Klaus forced out, his throat straining, “until I can finally go to the bathroom. _Christ,_ I have to piss.” He grinned, wild and bitter, his head lolling as he tried to look at Reginald. 

“Grace,” Reginald spoke, his voice hard, “prepare another syringe. I think Number Four is going to need a few more hours of rest and… _healing._ ”

Klaus almost cried as Ben hissed, desperate and angry, “ _Fuck_ you.” 

“Is that so?” Grace asked, confusion working a tiny crease in between her brows. “My readings indicate that the level of medication in Klaus’ system is still relatively high. He shouldn’t need another dose for at least several hours. Any more and he might not be able to⏤”

“Override,” Reginald commanded shortly. Grace stopped, her forehead smoothing over and she waited for Reginald to continue, “Your readings are incorrect, Grace. As your creator, my knowledge is superior to yours and my commands are final. When we are done here, I will update your software so _misunderstandings_ such as these do not occur again. Prepare another syringe.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me, I was not aware that I was out of date.” Klaus watched Grace’s heels walk away and Ben’s face swam above his own. Somewhere just beyond his field of vision, a crowd lurked, their voices rising and falling in waves as he struggled against the current, Ben’s murmuring reassurances his lighthouse.

Grace’s arms broke through Ben’s chest in a parody of the Horror. She smiled gently down at Klaus as she pulled his shirt aside, exposing the far too prominent line of his collarbone and the small port that rested in reflection to his heart. “This is going to make you feel better, Klaus dear,” she told him gently. “I promise, I’m here to help.”

The syringe went in and Klaus was drowning. 

The field around Klaus appeared to be the same one he visited his first time in the grey world. It was his favorite of the places he’d seen Beyond. Something about it was especially calming and peaceful. Maybe, Klaus let himself hope, that meant something. Maybe this time, he got to stay. He lay splayed out on his back, his own body feeling distant and detached as if the high had followed him there. 

Klaus could hear footsteps swish through the grass but he did not move to see the source. He figured there was only one person it could be. 

She stood over him, frowning, but silent. 

“Please,” Klaus asked, his voice breaking with a sob. “I’m just so tired.”

She didn’t respond.

Klaus woke with a strangled gasp. He lay limply, every fiber of his being on fire. He couldn’t quite make out Reginald’s face behind his tears, but he heard his voice cut through the oppressive air like jagged glass. 

“Did you find him?”

“No.”

“Then we keep going.”

Klaus knew it would only be so long before he was back in the grey world again. He just hoped that the little girl would let him stay even just a little bit longer next time. 

He wondered if maybe the reason he couldn’t stay, was that he was dead already. 

Maybe he was in hell. 

Maybe he had done something terrible in some life that he couldn’t remember. 

Maybe this, maybe everything he _could_ remember, was his punishment. 

He was just. 

So. 

Tired. 

The next wave of black was a relief. 

  
  
  
  
  


He fell down from his high, crashing from the terrifying powerlessness and overwhelming mass of the dead pushing down around him into the aching bright clarity of the real world, marred only by the dark flickering shadows that lingered in the corners, and lit by the blessed lingering of Ben who rode the last dredges of Klaus’ high. 

“Hey, Klaus,” Ben whispered, worry clear in every line of his face. “How are you feeling?” 

Klaus swallowed a few times, his throat was raw and aching. “Okay,” he gasped, a little dazed. He looked weakly around, he’d been brought back to his own room. “Where—?” 

“Dad left after you passed out again. Pogo… pointed out that we don’t know enough about your limitations and,” he swallowed roughly, “if he kept going, you might not wake up again. You’ve been out for a couple of hours I think.”

Klaus nodded slowly. He lay unmoving for several minutes, staring up at the ceiling. “Ben?”

“Yeah?” he responded, too quickly.

“Do you have a game plan for how we’re going to get out of here now?”

“I have a couple of ideas, yeah,” he gave Klaus a watery smile, looking wrecked and scared and relieved. 

“Okay,” Klaus nodded to himself. “What do we do first?” he sat up too quickly and swayed. Ben lunged forward to steady him but stopped, remembering. 

“Slow down,” he warned harshly, “You just had a massive fucking overdose you shouldn’t be—”

“Number Four.” Reginald stood silhouetted in the doorway. “You’re awake.”

“Nice observation,” Klaus snarked and flinched, not ready for another battle of wills that would end with him shot up again. “Sorry,” he apologized quickly.

Reginald looked at him unfeeling. “Watch yourself, Number Four.” 

Klaus ducked his head further, waiting for the punishment. 

There was a long moment of silence before Reginald continued. “Get up,”

Klaus’ head snapped up fast enough that he felt a little sick. 

“You’re going to be late for dinner.” Reginald left before Klaus could register what he’d said.

He looked over to Ben, confusion clear in his expression. “Um?”

“Better do what he says,” Ben murmured, staring after Reginald. “However unadvisable in your condition.”

Klaus huffed an almost laugh and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly standing. Ben hovered awkwardly next to him, wanting to give him support but unable. 

Klaus picked his way carefully across the room, his head still swimming. He took his sweater off the back of the chair and pulled it on, covering his battered arms, painted with bruises and bleeding through fresh bandages in some places. It took too long, but he managed to make his way to the dining room. Reginald and Luther were already at the table, Grace was placing the last plate before Klaus’ empty seat. 

“You’ve kept us waiting, Number Four,” Reginald commented blandly and started on his dinner. 

Klaus hovered in the doorway. 

“Take your seat.” Reginald didn’t look up from his roast chicken.

Klaus stumbled as quickly as he could to his seat, wincing as he lowered himself down. Luther was watching him, his fork paused midair over his mashed potatoes, staring. 

Klaus winked, forcing himself to smile, though even he could tell that it looked more like a grimace. Luther did not look reassured, his eyes widened further as he took in the way the sweater, already a size small, hung off Klaus' skeletal body and his deeply bruised, sleep-deprived eyes as if Luther hadn’t seen them every day for the last countless years. 

Klaus looked away from him. He picked up his fork and set to work pushing things around his plate, managing to take a bite every five minutes or so. No one said anything about it. Not even Reginald, who had insisted every day for the last eighteen years that their plates be cleaned before they could be dismissed— at least when forgoing a meal wasn’t being used as punishment. 

Alone in his room that night, the last lingering traces of his high quickly vanishing, Klaus sat on his floor. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, focusing intently on the faded, Ben-shaped shadow that flickered in the corner. 

“Klaus?” Ben spoke gently and Klaus relaxed, opening his eyes. 

“Hey, Benny,” he breathed, looking over. They smiled at each other weakly. 

“Feeling okay?” Ben asked, his face pinched in worry.

“I’m fine,” Klaus slowly sat up, still feeling strange from what had happened before. “So what’s the plan?” 

“The plan?”

“For how we’re getting out of here.” Klaus rolled his eyes, standing and brushing past Ben. He started fishing through the closet for his backpack, tossing old shoes, and crumpled clothes out of the way.

Ben was quiet for a moment before smiling privately to Klaus’ back. “We go out through Five’s room.”

Klaus paused and glanced over his shoulder to look at Ben, who grimaced sympathetically. 

“You know that’s one of the only exits left that Dad doesn’t have security cameras on. He doesn’t expect anyone to use it.”

“Yeah, because no one has gone in there for about five years.” No one had wanted to disturb their brother’s things. Even Klaus hadn’t gone in there, and he knew that Five wasn’t dead. 

_He couldn’t be._

“I think Five of all people would understand,” Ben told him gently.

Klaus thought about it for a minute before nodding with some reluctance. “Okay.” He went back to work stuffing the bag with his favorite items of clothing and whatever else might be useful. He pulled his small stash of money, mostly accumulated from pick-pocketing, out from its hiding place in the slats under his bed, and took one last look around the bedroom. He had done his best to make it his own during his time at the Academy, forging a sanctuary in the darkness, but there was an air of gloom and despair that could never quite be covered in colorful drapes of scribbled graffiti. Klaus would both miss it like a limb and be glad to watch it burn to ash. 

“Now what?” Ben asked. 

“Now we wait,” Klaus told him, going to sit on the bed. “It’s still too early.” 

Ben nodded, coming to sit next to him. They watched the clock slowly crawl past ten, eleven, twelve, and listened as the house slowly fell silent, long after Ben had lost his form.

Finally, as the clock downstairs chimed one, Klaus unfurled from his position. He crept across the floor of his room, sliding his bag onto his back. He paused outside the door, listening to be sure it was safe before he slowly turned the handle, easing the hinges slowly open. 

Klaus crept silently down the hallway towards the stairs, looking up and then down. The shadow that he knew was Ben swirled around his shoulder in a way that could have been characterized as confused as it stretched towards the way up to their escape. Klaus turned instead towards the flight going down and paused at the top, staring into the far expanse, or at least as far as he could see in the dark, remembering the day when he’d stood there in heels and the way his fall shattered everything. 

“I need them,” he whispered and started cautiously down. The shadow flew again and again into his face, rushing past him like it might do something to stop Klaus. But he pressed through, weaving carefully across the floor, dangerously close to Reginald’s bedroom. He made his way in complete silence down to the room in the basement and, pulling his lockpick out, popped the door open in seconds. Oddly, Reginald did not appear to have done much to keep anyone out, though of course, it was the first time that Klaus had willingly gone to that place. 

The drugs themselves were not even kept under lock and key, the cabinet swinging open easily. After all, any time Klaus was in there he was supervised or sedated and restrained. There was no need for more security. He took everything he saw, stuffing it down into his bag without much order, more concerned with speed. The mist swirled angrily around his arms but Klaus gritted his teeth and continued. 

“I’m sorry,” Klaus whispered as he carefully zipped up his bag. “I just⏤ I can’t leave without you.” 

The mist still hovered above him, but the rapid shifting had stopped and it hung like a fog, depressing and mournful. Klaus couldn’t look at it as he straightened and creeped out of the Crypt and up the stairs, back into the house. Then, just as silently as before, they made their way back through the house and up the stairs to the third floor, pausing frequently to listen for the sounds of Pogo or Reginald or Luther. 

When they reached the attic, Klaus paused. “Do you need to see yours?” he asked, glancing at the door of what was once Ben’s room. He rarely went up there, and only when Ben made a request for a book he wanted to read but could no longer turn the pages of. 

The shadow of Ben didn’t move for a moment before it slowly drifted past Klaus to Five’s door and hovered there, waiting for him. He swallowed and crossed the floor carefully, mindful of any creeks that may have developed from lack of use. With one hand resting on the doorknob, Klaus hesitated again, taking a deep breath before he slowly eased the door open. There was a slight groan and he paused, waiting. When there was no reaction from the floors below, he continued, pushing inch by inch until he slipped through the crack. 

In the dim light provided by the city lights outside, Five’s room was cast in shadow, obscuring most of it from view. Even so, memories of his brother came rushing back and Klaus nearly choked on the weight of them. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Five if you’re out there and I haven’t been able to find you, I’m sorry. But,” he paused, blinking quickly to stop from crying, “I _really_ fucking hope that you’re alive and got as far away as possible from this fucking shithole.” 

Before he could hesitate and risk discovery anymore than he already had, Klaus strode quickly across the room and eased up the window, dropping his backpack as silently as possible onto the fire escape.

As he ducked through the window himself, Klaus was reminded achingly of times now seeming long past, when they would all sneak out to get a doughnut or watch a movie. He thought of how Luther would always lead, checking the way before ushering them all through ahead of him, onto the fire escape to freedom. Of course, they had always used his room when they went together, just one floor directly below Five’s. Tactilely, it had been the best exit due to its location above the ally, and because Reginald never expected Luther, his Number One, to do anything so openly defiant. 

“What about Luther?” he asked Ben, hesitating with one foot outside and one still planted on the floor. “What happened to no man left behind?”

Without help from the drugs, the whispering of spirits sounded barely different than a soft breeze and Klaus strained to hear what Ben said. 

_“Luther⏤”_

“Luther,” Klaus repeated, holding his breath as he tried to listen to the rest of the murmuring, coming in like the background noise of a telephone call, weak and muffled and broken. 

_“Is⏤ n’t c⏤ ming.”_

“Isn’t coming,” Klaus repeated. His chest felt torn open, raw and aching. Klaus thought of the way Luther turned his head when he’d shown up to dinner, too sick from a round of punishment withdrawal to eat.

He thought of Luther picking him up and carrying him home on his back when they were young and carefree and he’d turned his ankle trying to jump a fence at a vacant lot. 

He thought of Luther, insisting even as each of their siblings left or died that Reginald loved them, that he just wanted what was best for his children. 

He thought of the way that Luther had shoved him away after they’d seen Allison’s movie. How even now he saw her actions as nothing less than betrayal. 

Klaus looked away from Ben and nodded once. “I know.” He ducked through the window, stepping out into freedom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some passive suicidal ideation. (Klaus od's and asks to stay dead, Klaus hoping he's the next family member to die so he doesn't have to grieve anyone else)
> 
> ****
> 
> And there we have it! The moment you've all been waiting for! Klaus has left! Yay!!  
> (I know it's not very happy still... but honestly, what did you expect from this???? lol. We have like twenty chapters before anything even starts looking up. Fair warning) 
> 
> This concludes what I consider to be "Act One" of this fic. I'll see yall next week when we enter a new phase in Klaus' life! 
> 
> *Fun fact: the Vanya section might be some of the most heavily edited paragraphs in this fic lmao. I had a hard time with her characterization
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave any thoughts or constructive feedback in the comments!!! Thank you SO much for reading!
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


	12. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus adjusts to life outside of the Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to ~Act Two~ of this fic! (aka Klaus on his own) A change of pace and place, how exciting ;)
> 
> ...but like... it's not going to get happy yet. Just a warning. 
> 
> ****Content warnings at the end

Klaus arrived at Diego's safe house in the early hours of the morning while the sky was just beginning to streak with color. He hesitated for a moment, shifting from side to side before he quickly rang the doorbell, nearly jamming his finger in the process. Inside the house, he could hear the echo of the chimes and he waited for what felt like a long time. Klaus was just preparing to ring the bell again when the door opened a crack, still held shut by the chain. A man peered down at him, frowning. 

“Um, hi?” Klaus ventured. 

The door closed and there was a rattled as the chain was unhooked. It opened again fully and the man crossed his arms, giving Klaus an impassive look. “Yes?” he asked. 

Feeling distinctly uneasy under his gaze, Klaus shrank a little. “I’m looking for Diego?” he tried. “Diego Hargreeves?”

“Who are you?” the man demanded, not budging an inch.

“Klaus Hargreeves? Diego’s brother?” He couldn’t help the way his voice tilted up at the end, unsure of himself in the cold presence so unlike the calm welcome he’d experienced the last time he was there. 

“ID?” 

“Uh, no I don’t have any,” Klaus started and seeing the way the man’s eyebrows drew closer together, added quickly, “But if you just get Diego he would tell you that he knows me.”

“There is no Diego here,'' the man told him flatly.

Klaus blinked. “What? Yes, there is. I’ve visited him here. Look.” He showed the man the scrap of paper that Diego had given him with the address and the phone number of the building. 

“This proves nothing.” 

“Look there is some mistake,” Klaus insisted again, “Diego is my brother. We’re adopted⏤ that’s why I don’t look like him. But he has dark brown hair and brown eyes and a scar like this,” Klaus traced the arch across his temple, “and he’s about this tall.” Klaus demonstrated with his hand. “He’s eighteen and⏤”

“This house is for minors,” the man interrupted him. “There isn’t anyone over the age of seventeen here. Now get off my porch.”

It felt like the air had been ripped out of him. “What?”

“This house is a shelter for children. If there was ever a Diego Hargreeves here, which I doubt, he’ll be gone by now.”

“But I’m not lying, he was here, I’m his brother. I’m just trying to find him so⏤”

“Look, kid,” the guard or whatever he was snapped, “I’ve seen enough junkies to know the signs and you’ve got every single one. I sympathize with your problem but I have a whole house full of kids that are trying to turn their lives around. For all I know you’re a dealer or a gang initiant looking to beat up someone who defected. You are not getting into this house. There are people inside who are prepared to call the cops if I give them the signal and I am pretty confident that I could take your junkie noodle arms. Now get off of my porch and don’t let me see you here again. Got it?”

“But⏤”

“I am giving you ten seconds.”

“Please, if you could just tell me where⏤”

“Ten, nine, eight⏤”

“Okay, fine!” Klaus shouted, throwing up his hands in the universal symbol for being unarmed. He took a few steps backward. “I’m going. But I am really just looking for Diego. If you do hear from him, or see him, please tell him that Klaus was looking for him?”

“Four, three⏤”

“I’m gone!” Klaus cried, sprinting down the steps, his backpack thumping against his back. He ran up the street, dodging through traffic and commuters until his legs shook and his chest ached.

***

Klaus was free for just under thirty-six hours when the first signs of withdrawal began. Hunched nervously in an alleyway, swaying from exhaustion and desperation, he fumbled to pull out the needle. With shaking hands, he measured the exact dose, copying the motions he’d seen Grace make hundreds of times before. His unsteadiness did not make it any easier to thread the needle into the port, but after two misplaced jabs, he drove the syringe home, slowly pushing down and letting the serum flow into his bloodstream. In the lull while passing between worlds, he had a moment of blissful peace until Ben interrupted it.

“Klaus!” 

_Shit, he’s mad,_ Klaus thought vaguely, tipping back to rest against the wall of the alleyway, the rough bricks digging into the bruised skin of his shoulder blades. 

“Ben!” he echoed, sounding much happier than his brother.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” 

“Taking my vitamins?”

“Not funny.”

“Come on, for me they practically are. They keep my powers nice and strong. Vitamin M. For morphine, get it?”

“You don’t care about your powers Klaus. And even if you did, you won’t be able to use them if you’re dead.”

“OR,” Klaus said dramatically, grinning dumbly at him, “will I be able to use them _all the time_?”

“That doesn’t make sense. Talking to the dead isn’t a power if you are also dead.”

“Wait, I just realized I never asked you, can you talk to dead people now too? Am I not special anymore?”

“I think you’re always going to be special Klaus.”

“Aw, thank you. I really⏤”

“A special pain in the ass.”

“Oh, original.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on Ben, I know you can do better⏤”

“Just because⏤ Wait. No. Stop distracting me, Klaus. This isn’t what we’re talking about.”

“Then what do you call what we’re doing right now?”

“Klaus.”

Klaus sagged, letting his wild grin fade. He looked away from Ben, shifting uncomfortably on the cold cement. 

“Klaus,” Ben started again, sounding calm but so sad it made Klaus sick with guilt. “I thought the whole point of leaving was that you didn’t want to be using anymore.”

“I left because I didn’t want _Dad,”_ he spat the name, “to be controlling what I did anymore.”

“So you’re going to destroy yourself all on your own.”

“Rather die free than live in that shit hole. Making my own choices.”

“Your own choices. Sure. Doing exactly what Dad was forcing you to do all on your own until you kill yourself. Sounds like freedom.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me so hard anyway? If you don’t want to talk to me anymore you can just go.”

Ben blinked, “Klaus, that’s not why I want you to get sober.”

Klaus didn’t say anything, just shrugged his shoulders and looked pointedly away from Ben, watching the dead teenager across the alleyway as she curled up in a mirror image of Klaus, clutching her arms tightly around her middle like she just couldn’t get warm.

Ben sighed, dropping down next to Klaus, “Look,” he said, “it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, because I do, _God help me_. I just think that you, like, living to turn nineteen is more important than me bitching to you about wanting breakfast food at three am.”

Klaus was picking at his chipping nail polish, black flakes snowing down onto his shoes. He still didn’t respond. 

“And it’s not like I’ll actually disappear if you’re not connected to the spirit world. I’ll still be here, watching you make a dumbass of yourself.”

“But I won’t be able to see you. Or talk to you.”

“True, but⏤”

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Klaus asked, so quietly Ben almost missed it. He stared at his feet, curled around himself as if bracing for a blow.

That did Ben in. Everything inside him deflated and he whispered back a short and wet, “Okay. I’m not going to leave you, Klaus. You’re not going to be alone.” 

Ben put his hand on the pavement between them and a beat later Klaus did the same. They were so close, they almost looked like they were touching. 

***

Klaus had adapted fairly quickly to street life. Of course, the mansion of the Academy had been about as upper class as life got, but despite the affluence, Klaus had never had what one might call a soft life. He knew what it was to push oneself to the brink of one’s physical limits and then beyond. He knew how to fight, how to defend himself if he fell under attack even if he wasn’t as skilled as Diego. He knew what it was to suffer, to be in pain, to go without because it was the only option. Most importantly, Klaus understood the ways that people could tear each other apart and had stared down the eyes of monsters. Klaus understood to never trust, to always question, to defend and preserve himself first. 

During his first weeks of homelessness, he’d been attacked and came out alive and mostly in possession of everything he’d started with, if sporting a few bruises. His shoes had been stolen off his feet and his bag snatched, but he’d already taken to carrying the essentials, that is his pills and vials, in the inside pockets of his coat. A few of the places he’d found to squat had been taken out from under him by groups too large or too risky to fight on his own, but there was always somewhere else to go. He managed just fine. 

Sure, it was hard to be without shelter. Or to go for days without eating. But those were things that Reginald had trained them for too. Besides, when it got to be too much, Klaus could always find his way to a club to wait out the night, the chill, the storm, or to drown his fear in the swirl of lights and let his thoughts go silent over the pounding noise of the music. 

***

If there was one thing that Klaus would thank Reginald for it would be his tendency to be over-prepared and well-stocked. Klaus had been on his own for six weeks and had yet to need to make a purchase, maintaining his high on the goods he’d taken with him. Of course, there were always _ways_ to afford a hit, should Klaus ever find himself in need. Earl, the middle-aged dealer who liked to hang around the raves, told him as much. 

Klaus wasn’t a blushing flower, he hadn’t felt shy about such things for a couple of years by then, but there was something about the way the man would sneer, his eyes lingering too long on Klaus’ thin frame as he passed, that sent ice down Klaus’ back. He placated Earl in tight smiles and witty quips and passed him in wide circles, trying not to notice the way the dark gaze followed him.

***

Klaus learned, in startling clarity, how much wealth he had stuffed in his coat by watching the others like him who frequented the clubs and back alleys as they scrambled for the cash they needed to curb their cravings. As the endless parade of needy people marched through Earl’s house, and the houses of dozens of others just like him, Klaus grew to understand the look of desperation. The wasting bodies of the living blurred together with the dead and sometimes Klaus wasn’t sure who was who until he ran into them or through them. Despite his best efforts, something of Reginald’s training must have seeped into Klaus’ brain and he couldn’t help but to observe and remember, and so when the time came, when his body was growing dangerous weak with hunger and his clothes too ragged to remain decent much longer, he knew exactly how much to charge when the others started asking questions about how he always seemed to ride the edge of bliss. 

It was a difficult decision to make, selling something that he knew would cost him an exorbitant sum to essentially just buy back later when his depleted supply gave out; but eventually, Ben’s instance won out, and Klaus parted with a handful of pills and bought himself something to eat. 

Sitting hunched over his burger, gripping it like he expected someone to come and rip it out of his hands, which was not an entirely unreasonable fear if the past few days on the street were anything to go by, Klaus discussed his next move with Ben, too high and anxious to be concerned with the odd glances the other patrons sent his way as they made wide skirts around his table. 

“So, obviously, I can’t just keep carrying all of this around with me.” He indicated his jacket, bulging and awkward. “It’s going to get stolen. At best.”

“You’re going to get killed,” Ben said flatly from across the table. The strawberry shake Klaus had bought for him sat untouched and slightly melty in front of his tangled hands. 

Klaus shrugged, “At worst, yes.”

“Please try to be more concerned than that.”

“Oh, yes. I am frightened.” Klaus didn’t even try to sound serious. 

Ben looked at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Klaus relented quietly. “Trying NOT to freak out about that here.”

“Avoiding it won’t make you safer.”

“Thanks for the support, brother dearest.”

“You’re welcome.”

Klaus rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of his burger in his mouth, resisting the urge to lick the paper. Just barely. He grabbed a handful of fries saying, “So what do I do?”

“You need protection.”

***

In theory, Ben’s plan was great. In practice, Klaus was a skinny and underfed teenager with limited experience in forming illegal organizations, a vigilante justice squad of his siblings aside. 

His “friends”, whose acceptance and protection he won in hits, lost interest when they realized his supply was limited and made off with what they could while they could. Through bloodied teeth, Klaus mused to a tearful and remorseful Ben that they must have liked Klaus at least a little if they left him alive. 

“Really,” he wheezed, curling carefully around his aching ribs, “for a first friendship, things could have ended much worse.”

Ben blinked quickly, swallowing hard. “We need to get you patched up,” he said finally. Watching Klaus stagger to his feet, hunched and awkward, Ben wished he could slip his arm under Klaus’ and help him to safety. 

***

With shaking hands and wounds just beginning to scab over, Klaus found Earl in the lot behind an old dive bar. As he walked towards him, Earl smiled wide and dark, his brown-tinged teeth sharklike. Klaus could almost pretend his stumble was caused by the uneven and cracked asphalt underfoot.

Later, lying on the crumpled sheets, new bruises blooming in bloody roses across his arms and legs, Klaus closed his eyes to Ben’s stare. 

He was just so fucking tired. 

***

Their nineteenth birthday passed, which Klaus and Ben celebrated together at Griddy’s for old time’s sake. Klaus ate both of their doughnuts at Ben’s instance, and the sugar was almost sweet enough to curb his bitter disappointment that no divine forces had inspired any of the others to come, even as they sat at the counter long into the night. Klaus passed the time drinking cup after cup of bottomless watery coffee while Ben twirled lazily on the stool next to him, not quite managing to hide the way he glanced at the door on each rotation. 

***

The time of year Klaus took to the street was possibly the only blessing that the world gave him, powers be damned, but his grace period was running out. Now into November, the last lingering days of warmth had well since passed and the weather had turned distinctly colder, frost crusting Klaus’ coat more mornings than not. The abandoned apartment building he’d been squatting in the past six weeks was reasonably well insulated and provided enough shelter to keep him from serious danger for now, but it was not going to be sufficient when the snow came and the temperatures dropped below zero. 

Shelters weren’t reliable enough to be the long-term plan, and besides, they tended to frown on residents carrying in little baggies and loose needles. 

***

If Earl was good for one thing, it was for meeting people Klaus had a lot in common with. Or at least meeting those who occupied a similar space in life and were happy to tell him that Earl wasn’t the only one who was willing to make exceptions for pretty people. It was Stacy, a girl younger than Klaus and so thin she looked like the weight of her backpack might snap her in half, that told him where he could go if he ever needed a bit more cash than pick-pocketing provided for something a dealer didn’t sell.

“Looking for a date, baby’?” Klaus tried to sound sexy through the chattering of his teeth. He let his coat fall off of one shoulder in an attempt to look alluring as he sucked down cigarettes in an effort to stay warm.

The musty smell of the motel quilt might as well have been spring blossoms for now sweet it was to Klaus, even as the rough fabric scratched his cheek. It was cold enough that when the crumpled bills landed next to his face, he stayed where he was, listening with disinterest as the man made his way out. The burst of cold air that grazed his bare back when the door opened made Klaus shiver. 

Finally alone, he curled into a ball, tucking himself into a wad of sheets and blankets. There was still almost an hour before he had to go. He could wait that much longer for a hit. 

He could definitely hold off on facing Ben. It made something hot and sharp cut into Klaus’ chest, the way that Ben would look at him, knowing, as Klaus went limp with relief on the grimy mattress back at the burnt-out office building he had moved to. It was almost enough for him to consider quitting. 

Almost.

***

The corner was good enough in a pinch and had gotten him out of a few tight places, but it wasn’t reliable. And Klaus wasn’t inclined to make it a regular thing either. Even if he had, there were too many nights that Klaus found himself without a date, or at best, with a short break from the cold in the back of a parked car. 

He didn’t especially like stealing either. Though Klaus tended to target the people and shops he felt like could afford it, it was too risky, too easy to get caught. The night he spent in a cell was enough to drive that point home. If he wasn’t careful, he would be spending a lot more than twenty-four hours in jail. 

Earls’ house was reliable, in more ways than one. Klaus was just about always allowed inside, but it was a toss-up how he would leave. 

“I’m going to haunt Earl’s ass,” Ben hissed, his fingers hovering over the bruises that marred Klaus’ jaw.

“Does that mean you’re going to finally get off my case?” Klaus snapped, jerking his jacket tighter around himself, turning his head away. 

Ben pulled his hand back, a flash of hurt crossing his face. “I’m just worried about you, Klaus.”

He winced, immediately guilty, “I know.”

“You deserve better.”

Klaus didn’t say anything.

***

The club was often the happiest medium he could find. Most nights, there would be someone there, close to his own age even, who was looking for fun and someone to share it with. Sometimes, he got lucky enough that they were young and _rich_ and looking to rebel. The kind of boy who was generous and just a little too desperate to impress. Klaus liked those boys best, young and healthy and easy to flirt with for many reasons.

If nothing else, on nights when the scene was a little too dead, or he was a little too worn out, Klaus was able to pass out on a couch or chair for a few hours and be left relatively alone. If he was tired enough, even the music didn’t stop him from sleeping, the pound of the bass that rattled the floor rocking him to sleep. 

***

“Dude. The _fuck?_ ”

Klaus squinted at his hookup through unfocused eyes, his head flopping as he struggled to make eye contact. His look of confusion made the boy, _Matt_ , Klaus thought his name might be, he’d been a little out of it when they were giving introductions, sighed and pointed towards Klaus’ chest. 

“The _thing_ that you just injected into. _The. Fuck._ ”

“Oh,” Klaus looked down at himself, sounding half-surprised like he’d forgotten it was there. “It’s an IV port. For when you do a lot of injections. Supposed to save your veins or something.”

“An IV⏤ . Wait. Are you like, supposed to be in the hospital or something? Are you _dying_ ? Did I just give heroin to a dying person? Oh _shit_ , I’m going to be charged with murdering a cancer kid or something.”

Klaus laughed, “I’m not dying. It’s for this.” He waved the used needle, grinning sharp and wild. 

Matt, _definitely Matt_ , looked at him for a long beat, something odd in his face. “You’re fucked up, dude. I mean, I’ve seen some crazy shit, and that just about tops it. You’ve got a _problem_.” 

Klaus’ laugh was harsh and barking, “Tell me about it.” His head rolled to the side, turning away from Matt like he was listening to someone else. He laughed again. “You’re right. A drug dealer telling me I’m fucked is probably a bad sign.” Klaus paused again like he was waiting for a response before adding, cheerfully, “Nope. Sorry, Benny.”

Matt, sighed, standing. The kid was too far gone to even try talking to him at the moment. As he left the room, wondering vaguely if it was time to start sorting his shit out, Matt heard Klaus whisper once more, sounding serious and tired and not at all like someone riding an intense and perfect high.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” 

Klaus slipped out some time later, leaving the apartment untouched, even as the wad of cash that sat on the counter tempted him. 

At least he wasn’t _that_ fucked up. 

Though the next time he found himself on the corner just a few days later, Klaus found himself regretting it. 

***

“Leave me _alone_ ,” Klaus pleaded his hands clamped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Klaus, Klaus, help me,” the spirits begged, crowding around his mattress, laid on the grimy floor of an abandoned warehouse. 

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” he told them, shrinking back from their outstretched hands, tangled and battered and bloodied. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I tried. I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.” 

“Please,” the voice sounded so sad and helpless Klaus opened his eyes to find a woman inches from his face. Her eyelids were closed, but from the way they sunk in and the bright red blood that was streaked across her face like tears, Klaus could tell there was nothing behind them. He made a noise of fear and surprise and jerked back, hitting the wall painfully. Despite not being able to see him, the woman seemed to know what had happened and she wailed again.

“Please, Klaus!”

“No. No. Nononononono⏤” 

“Klaus. Klaus!”

Reality and memory bled together and Reginald was looming above him, ordering, _“Get a hold of yourself, Number Four. Describe what is happening.”_

“Help us!”

_“You’re going to hurt yourself, Klaus dear,” Grace told him apologetically, reaching for the restraints.”_

“Nonononono⏤”

“Klaus. Klaus. Klaus⏤”

“Klaus!” Ben’s voice cut through the noise and Klaus was jerked back to reality. He opened his eyes again, the med-wing fading into the grey of the hus surroundings. Ben was crouched in front of him, blocking most of the dead from his view. 

“Just focus on me, Klaus. Okay? I’m right here.”

Klaus nodded shakily, wiping tears roughly from his eyes. 

“Good. You’re doing good, Klaus. Take some deep breaths now. In and out. In and out.” Ben mimed breathing alongside him, going slow and even. “ _In_ , two three, four. _Out,_ two, three, four. Good. Just like that.”

Klaus’ breath slowly became less ragged as he stared purposefully at Ben, ignoring the crowd behind him. 

“Good,” Ben said again, calm and reassuring. “Now, tell them to go away again.”

Klaus’ eyes widened and his breath hitched.

“I’m right here, Klaus. I’ve got you. They can’t touch you.” Ben reminded him. He waited for Klaus to nod before moving aside, just to the left of Klaus. 

“Klaus! Klaus!” The spirits began to scream again at the sight of him.

“I, I can’t help you,” Klaus told them, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry. Please, leave me alone.”

The eyeless woman wailed again, and then she disappeared, a small strand of mist all that indicated she’d ever been there. Sowly, the others flickered out, their voices dying into silence. As the last ghost left, Klaus collapsed back, sagging against the wall. He wrapped his shaking hands around himself in imitation of a hug. 

“You did so good, Klaus,” Ben told him. “Really, really good.” He stayed with Klaus until the dose wore off, reminding him to breathe, but otherwise silent. Klaus dropped off to sleep shortly after Ben vanished, exhausted. 

***

“Klaus.” Ben’s look of disappointment said everything. 

“What can I say?” Klaus asked, tired and flat, unable to find it in him to joke right then. 

“I just don’t understand why,” Ben said, frustration creeping into his voice. “I know that addiction is hard, Klaus. And believe me, I fucking know that Dad fucked you over big time. But, you’re _free_ now. There are places that can help you. You have a whole life ahead of you and you’re wasting it.” 

“I’m sorry Ben. I know I’m a disappointment to you. I’m sorry I’m the one you got stuck with for eternity.” 

“What? No, Klaus. That wasn’t the point. I didn’t say⏤”

“I know I’m not anyone’s first choice to get chained to for all time, but I appreciate you keeping me company anyway, even if I’m not who you want.” Klaus didn’t look at him as he wove through the dark street, ducking into an alleyway. 

“Klaus,” Ben started to say before he was interrupted.

“Least I can do is take you out for some fun right?” Klaus grinned, seriousness gone as he bopped up to the bouncer, batting his eyelashes. “Hey, handsome,” he flirted.

The bouncer rolled his eyes but let Klaus pass. 

“Klaus,” Ben began again, “this isn’t fun for me, I’d rather you stay home and sober and⏤”

“You need to loosen up, Ben darling. I’m in control. You’re the only one here right?”

Technically, yes, that was true. But it was always hard to tell what was Klaus’ control and what was luck. 

“I miscalculated the dose last time. Tonight is going to be fun. Promise.” He held up a pinky. “And I haven’t even been on a real bender since I left the Academy. That’s _progress_.” He gave Ben a devilish smile and jazz hands. 

Ben considered the way that the lights of the club cast the dark circles under Klaus’ eyes in relief and the way that tension still sat high and tight in his shoulders. He sighed and didn’t say anything, which Klaus took as a sign of defeat. 

Klaus wove his way through the crowd to the bar and set about convincing a man at least twice his age to buy him a drink. Ben followed, letting his disapproving gaze tell Klaus how he felt about all of this, but never taking his eyes off the drink his brother clutched in his hand. If he was going to take anything, it was going to be by his own free choice. Klaus deserved that much basic human decency.

***

His port got infected in April, used too many times, and lacking in proper maintenance. Klaus collapsed in the subway system, having taken to riding the rails for hours, trying to stay warm and relatively safe as he battled what he thought was a nasty cold. The other riders had been staring at him with expressions ranging from unease to disgust as he swayed, clutching his bag to himself, sweat soaking his bangs to his forehead. 

“Ben,” he muttered, his vision swimming. He hadn’t seen the dead in almost three days, unable to pull himself together to find a dose. Before he hit the ground, Klaus thought he heard his name, shouted urgently, fearfully. But he could have just been hallucinating. 

Klaus didn’t remember blacking out, but someone on the train must have cared enough to call 911 because when he woke up it was the beeping of machines. An IV was stuck in the back of his right hand, carrying something clear. He blinked, trying to understand what was happening. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The nurse startled Klaus and he jerked. “Take it easy,” she said gently. When she smiled, she looked like Grace. 

“Where?” His voice sounded horrible, raspy and strained. The nurse held up a hand to silence him and handed over a cup of ice chips. He sucked them gratefully. 

“My name is Nurse Jen. You’re at the hospital, Klaus. You collapsed on the train. Your IV port,” her face twisted with something that seemed like displeasure, “was infected. And you were going through withdrawal.” 

“Oh.” Klaus processed for a moment as Jen bustled around him. Something was nagging at him, feeling wrong about what she’d said. He played her words back in his mind and froze. “Wait,” he looked at the door, tense and straining to hear the familiar voice coming for him. “How did you know my name?”

“Your father put out a missing person report for you Klaus. When you showed up here, without a name or identification, we searched the system for hits. When we found the report for you, we contacted your father. He’s been very worried about you, Klaus.”

Terror paralyzed him. “Is he here?” he whispered, pressing himself back as far as he could in the bed. 

“He’s speaking to your doctor at the moment, though he has been in to see you a few times over the past few days.”

The thought of Reginald being in the same room as him made Klaus feel sick. 

“I don’t want him here,” he said, his voice sounding too young and scared. “I'm over eighteen, right? I can make those decisions on my own. I don’t want him here.” 

Jen frowned, “Yes, you are technically an adult, Klaus. But your father has exercised his rights under his conservatorship⏤”

“What?”

She sighed, looking sympathetic. “Your father has told us about your addiction struggle Klaus. And,” she glanced down at his wrists, exposed from their usual coverings, the scars on display, “about your past struggles with mental health. He explained that he has implemented a conservatorship because you are unable to make decisions for yourself at the moment.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean?” True terror was seeping into Klaus’ bones even as he still struggled to comprehend what she was telling him. 

“It means that, for right now, your father has the ability to make decisions for you, Klaus. About things like medical treatment and financial issues. It’s basically a guardianship, like any parent does for a child. I know you’re nineteen, but the courts have agreed that this is a necessary step at the moment.”

Klaus felt the need to puke. “No,” he breathed.

Jen continued in the same light tone, “It’s just until you get better, honey. We just want to help you, Klaus. Everyone just wants you to get help⏤”  
“No!” Klaus shouted, panic overtaking him as he tried to get out of bed. “I’m not going with him! This, this whole thing is his fault! I can’t, I can’t⏤” His breath became ragged as Jen rushed forward, pushing him back into bed. 

“Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You don’t understand⏤”

“I know you don’t want to get help, Klaus. But you need to get clean or you’re going to kill yourself. Look what almost happened.” 

Klaus was crying and she was looking confused and slightly concerned. “Your father just wants you to get clean… right?” She looked at him, serious, a frown creasing her forehead like something was out of place. 

Klaus hesitated and she seemed to see the fear in his eyes as his hand ghosted over the bandage where his port once was. “

Klaus,” she started, slowly. “Why did you have⏤” The beeping down the hall cut her off and Jen jerked to attention. “I’m sorry, Klaus, I have to go. But I’m going to listen to you when I get back, okay? Just hold on.” She rushed out of the room, the alarms blaring louder. 

Klaus lay still for a moment, his heart pounding hard and fast. Scanning the room, he spotted the crumpled plastic bag on the chair in the corner, stuffed with his clothing and the handful of possessions he owned. 

With one last glance at the door, he ripped the IV out of his hand and made for the bag. 

Dressed, Klaus slowly stuck his head out of the room, checking if the way was clear. Thankfully for him, and unfortunately for someone else, most of the staff was distracted by whatever the alarm had been about and he was able to get out of the ward without having to pass many staff members. 

_It was ironic_ , Klaus thought, as he ducked and weaved his way down the floors of the hospital, escaping into the throng of people outside, _how the training Reginald had forced him through gave Klaus everything he needed to escape the man that afternoon._

  
  
  


In the alleyway later that night, Ben appeared in front of him, looking pale even for a ghost, his eyes wide. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, crouching down in front of Klaus, worry lining his face in a mock of the wrinkles he’d never really have. 

Klaus looked at him, clutching the needle so tightly in his hand it threatened to break, and burst into tears. 

Ben’s face crumpled with his and they stayed that way for a long time, Klaus sobbing until he ran dry and Ben hunched in front of him, his head bowed in a mirror of his brother’s, their foreheads an inch apart. The slush soaked slowly into Klaus’ pants, leaving him cold and dirty. Ben’s shoes remained unblemished, his knees dry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: The (heavy) implication/depiction of prostitution. However, it is not explicitly shown in that nothing sexual happens on the page. Like no one even kisses.  
> The "worst" of it is the brief implication that Klaus received bruises as a result of (consensual) prostitution. 
> 
> TW: Brief aftermath of (non-sexual) violence towards Klaus, no more than some bruises and scrapes. 
> 
> ****
> 
> A conservatorship is a very real thing and it is terrifying. If you want to learn more about it, [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRUkPZ1Fbqo&ab_channel=JessicaKellgren-Fozard) is amazing and terrifying as it offers insight into the #FreeBritney movement. It's not required viewing to understand this fic at all, but I think it's an important issue so I wanted to share. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave your thoughts and feedback! I genuinely treasure every single comment <3


	13. Sunburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus spirals and finds someone to keep him company on the way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNINGS at the end*
> 
> Surprise!!!  
> I know, I am posting on a Monday when I usually update on Thursday. I have decided to move to a Monday AND Thursday update schedule (aka release a new chapter two times a week), mainly because I am impatient to share my story and because I logistically can. (Watch me fuck this up immediately lmao). 
> 
> Also, this chapter is super long. I am aware of this and I am sorry. I debated a long time on if I should cut it into two chapters and I very nearly did! But then I was like... even if the first half could be its own chapter, I don't think the second half works as its own chapter? If that makes sense? Idk. I hope no one minds this whole ass mini-novel lol
> 
> Please enjoy!

After escaping Reginald for the second time, Klaus’ fear of law enforcement increased dramatically. Obviously, he had never _wanted_ to be arrested, but Klaus had never truly feared it on a primal level before. When he heard sirens in the distance, or worse, rushing just down the street from him, Klaus instinctively curled in on himself, ducking into the nearest alleyway and melting into shadows. Each time they passed over him, Klaus was left sick with relief for a few precious moments before his ever-increasing anxiety took root again. 

Klaus couldn’t get caught. He couldn’t end up in the system. He couldn’t allow himself to end up in _any_ system⏤ that’s why he stopped going to shelters entirely, preferring to roll the dice with park benches or club hookups. His life had been transient before, but after the hospital, it was as if Klaus never stopped running. He was eternally pursued, stalked like prey by the specter of his fathers’ control. 

There were few things that Klaus was certain of his life, not where his next meal was coming from, not where he would sleep that night, not if the stranger whose car he was getting into would be decent. But he knew that he needed to stay invisible. He needed to disappear into the ether, untraceable, unfindable, unremembered. 

He had to, or else Reginald would find him.

And if he did, Klaus was afraid he wouldn’t escape a third time. 

***

The days and weeks and months blurred together into an endless stream of highs and crashes and starving cold nights and another year slipped away. Klaus didn’t even notice his twentieth birthday, lost in a land of oblivion that even Ben couldn’t follow him to. He didn’t care that his arms once again grew tattered with track marks, his port removed due to the infection and never replaced. In his blurry delusion, the ugly red punctures bled into the glitter that clung to his skin after a long rave, the pain indistinguishable from the euphoric high. 

He spent most of his time bouncing between the most obscure underground clubs he could find, exhausting his options with each crowd in turn. The best days were those that he only vaguely remembered, hours lost to the call of the void where he was free from whatever happened on Earth. If he was really lucky, when Klaus returned he would find himself more or less in the same physical condition he started. If he wasn't lucky, there was always some substance that could stop him from caring about the marks that he didn't remember getting.

***

As the earth began to thaw nearly two years after he first left the Academy, Klaus was drifting through life, hanging on by a narrow dangling thread. 

Finding Jason, who was beautiful and healthy, like the hungriest he’d even been had been the day he’d missed his after-school snack, was the luckiest stroke Klaus had hit in a long time. His golden blonde hair reflected the swirling lights of the club, calling Klaus to him like a beacon through the tangled mass of bodies that crowded the dance floor. When he reached him, Jason's intense hazel eyes pinned him in place with a thrill Klaus didn't know he could feel anymore. 

When he went home with Jason that night, back to an apartment furnished with stuff that looked new and heated to spare, and even more miraculously, to someone who held him with tenderness and care, Klaus didn’t want to leave for more than just fear of the cold. 

He warmed Klaus’ life as the buds of spring unfurled, green and new. 

***

Through the spring, Jason was Klaus’ sun. He was more than a meal ticket, more than a flow of cash and drugs, or a safe place to sleep, providing protection from Reginald’s search. Jason was a reason to stay coherent, to keep his use to what Klaus considered a reasonable level, and even allow a few hours a day to pass relatively sober. 

Jason was a few years older than Klaus and was taking time post-grad to blow through his trust fund while he worked a small handful of hours a week at an internship. Eventually, he would go to work for his father, who he, of course, could not stand. (What rich young man liked his overbearing and loaded father? It seemed to be their only real problem in life.) Jason spoke of expectations and pressure and Klaus nodded along to every word, muttering over and over how he _understood_ and marveling at finding someone else who just _knew._ True, Jason’s father had never strapped him down to perform dubious medical experiments on him, but the sentiment was the same. 

Of course, Klaus couldn’t explain exactly how he understood, not without revealing a lot more than he was ready for, but Jason got the idea that Klaus grew up like him, wealthy and not good enough and slowly crushed under the weight of it. 

“You know, Klaus,” he said one afternoon, as they lounged together in the bed, worn out and happy, smoke hanging around them in a soft haze, “I really admire you.”

Klaus was shocked. He rolled over to look at Jason incredulously. “You do?” Jason was perfect. Jason was _smart._ Jason went to college. Jason was everything Klaus wasn’t. 

Jason laughed at his indignation. “Yeah, you had the balls to tell your dad to go fuck himself. You’re out there on your own. You didn’t sell out for some cushy corporate job in your dad’s business.” His hand gripped Klaus’ shoulder tighter as he spoke, his voice growing harder. “You’re free.”

Klaus hesitated, “I guess,” he admitted slowly, “though I didn’t so much tell him to ‘fuck off’ as I just... left.”

“Still, more than I did,” Jason insisted, his voice clearly upset. Klaus’ arm was starting to hurt. 

“And,” Klaus added quickly, kindly even as he winced in pain, “you’re wrong about something else. I’m not on my own. I’ve got you.”

It was terribly cheesy, but his words had the desired effect, and Jason let go, smiling down at him. “True.”

“I’m lucky,” Klaus smiled, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned against Jason’s chest.

“Damn right.”

They laughed and rolled over, legs tangled together. 

***

“Jason makes you happy,” Ben said slowly one morning in mid-May, sitting across from Klaus, their mugs of coffee steaming. 

“Yeah,” Klaus said smiling, flicking his joint lazily. “He does.”

“That’s good,” Ben continued, still speaking in carefully measured sentences. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I’m just not sure if he’s good _for_ you.”

“What?” Klaus was honestly caught off guard. “You just acknowledged he makes me happy.”

“I know he does, but… he feeds your habit.” 

Klaus rolled his eyes, standing. 

Since resolving to better control his habit for the sake of Jason (and though he would never admit it, Ben) Klaus had played with his dosage with a scientific intensity that would have made Reginald proud. He developed a system of constant microdoses that kept him on the edge between high enough to keep the cravings at bay and low enough to allow him to manage his power to an extent he hadn't been able to when Reginald had been pushing his limits. Usually, it was enough to stop most unwelcome spirits from reaching through the veil to him, which was pretty much all of them, bar one. Klaus was embarrassed by the sentimentality of it, but he allowed Ben through almost always. As annoying as his lectures could be. 

Speaking of, Klaus rolled his eyes and snagged his cup, going to stand in front of the window, overlooking the skyline. The summer sun streamed in, glowing against the white of the shirt he’d stolen from Jason, the material hanging down to his midthigh, long enough that he hadn’t bothered to put any shorts on underneath. Klaus sipped his coffee silently for a moment before saying, “I need it, Ben. You understand that better than anyone. Besides, it’s all under control. We don’t even have to worry about how to afford it.”

At some point, without Klaus realizing it, he and Ben had become _we_. A side-effect of being glued together for years, the only members of their family still clinging together.

 _Although at the current moment, his other half was being rather annoying,_ Klaus mused. 

“It’s not healthy, Klaus. For either of you.” Ben hesitated, “I understand why you do it, but you’re going to kill yourself, Klaus. Whether you mean to or not.”

“What difference would it make to you?” Klaus snapped defensively, turning to glare at him. 

Ben looked stunned before his expression melted to hurt mingled with anger. “Don’t _ever_ fucking say that, Klaus. You know that I would give anything to be alive. I wouldn’t wish this on you. I would _never_ do that to you.” 

Klaus flinched, becoming closed-off as he answered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Ben.”

“That’s not⏤ ” Ben started to say, deflated and guilty over his misspoke outburst. 

Before he could continue, the door was flung open and Jason called from the hall, “Doughnuts!” He appeared in the kitchen a moment later, lifting the pink box with a grin. “All your favorites.” 

Klaus smiled at him quickly, the tension in his shoulders not quite masked. “Thanks, baby.” 

“Show me how much you appreciate me?” Jason grinned, discarding the box on the table.

Klaus set down his coffee and extinguished the joint. He took Jason’s jaw tenderly in his hand, kissing him slowly. “What do you want, baby?”

***

When Jason went on a seven-day bender in June, Klaus was too busy matching him shot for shot to notice how far Jason had slipped since they’d met a few months ago, when he’d mostly smoked joints and anything else had been used as an occasional bit of fun. 

It was unfortunate that the week ended with a six-hour-long horror show of the ghosts that Klaus had trained himself to keep at bay finally emerging again in a spectacular rainbow of gore. When he finally came down, Jason held him, rocking Klaus’ shaking body gently back and forth and murmured about bad trips and backing off a bit. Klaus didn’t correct him, but he did go back to his "safer" system of continuous micro-dosing. 

***

At the beginning of July, Jason quit his internship. “It’s not like I was doing it for the money anyway,” he laughed, passing Klaus the bottle of champagne. “My dad’s going to have an aneurysm though,” he grimaced. 

“Fuck your dad,” Klaus grinned, dizzy from the cocktail of fine booze and a pure hit. 

Jason laughed. “You’re right, fuck him!”

“Cheers to that,” Klaus lifted the bottle, smiling at Jason as he took a deep drink.

“Hey, I’m supposed to drink to a toast too!” Jason shouted in mock anger, tackling Klaus. He laughed, trying to hold the bottle out of Jason’s reach, neither of them caring as the liquid splashed across the sofa and floor.

***

Klaus saw the magazine while carrying groceries home for him and Jason. There were at least a dozen of them hanging on the line above the newsstand. There was a large photo of Allison, with the header in bright yellow letters, _Love on London Star, Allison Hargreeves a Crime-Busting Vigilante? Former Umbrella Academy Member Speaks Out!_ Klaus tore the magazine down and flipped madly through the pages until he found the article. It appeared that someone had put the pieces together from her name and age and reluctance to talk about her past. In the interview, Allison confirmed that it was true, but made no mention of what the rest of them were doing, or even what their names were.

Allison claimed it was to “respect their privacy.” Klaus wondered if that was code for “she was embarrassed by them”. He bought the crumpled magazine from the vendor out of guilt, though he trashed it before going back up to the apartment. 

He wasn’t ready to tell Jason, afraid of ruining the first good thing that had happened in his life. 

***

A week later, Jason came bursting through the door, shouting, “Klaus!” 

At the sound of his name, Klaus wandered into the kitchen, his flowery sundress swishing around his knees. “You’re home early,” he said, happily moving to kiss him. “And _eager,_ ” he teased. 

Jason pushed him back, just hard enough for Klaus to stumble a bit. He looked at Jason, confused, and a little hurt. 

“My dad is coming,” Jason told him breathlessly, pushing deeper into the apartment, grabbing anything that wasn’t the carefully coordinated decorations his mother had chosen and stuffing it quickly away into whatever drawer or closet was closest. Dumping dishes in the sink, he turned to Klaus who stood frozen in the front hall. “Klaus,” he snapped. “You need to get your shit put away.” 

“Is your dad really that uptight about a bit of clutter?” Klaus asked, slowly starting to straighten the living room. 

“Come on,” Jason snapped, pushing him out of the way to fix the pillows on the couch. “Move faster. And you know what he’s like.”

“Sorry,” Klaus apologized quickly. “I know. I understand.” 

“Good,” Jason was moving down the hall to their bedroom. “I’m glad you get it. Here,” he thrust a few crumpled bills and a pair of sandals at Klaus. 

Klaus stared at them, confused. “What am I⏤?”

“Come on, Klaus,” Jason said, impatient. “You know you can’t be here when he gets here.”

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid, Klaus. You really think my dad is going to be okay with his son banging a guy?” He gave Klaus’ dress a once-over. “As loosely as I use that term.” 

Klaus wasn’t a stickler for gender, he really didn’t care much at all if he was a “real man” or not. But something in Jason’s tone sent his heart shriveling in his chest. “I thought you liked how I dress?” he asked, his voice sounding too small to his own ears.

A dim echo of Reginald’s voice breathed down his neck but Klaus pushed it away.

“Not the point, Klaus,” Jason snapped, impatient.

“No, the point is you’re kicking me out.” Klaus snatched the sandals from him, sitting on the bed to stuff his feet into them. 

“I’m not _kicking you out_ , Klaus. God, you’re so dramatic.” He covered his eyes with one hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just,” he shrugged helplessly, looking at Klaus, suddenly timid. “I just can’t tell him. You have to understand that. And I’m not breaking up with you or whatever. I just… need you to find somewhere else to be for a few hours. Please, for me.”

Klaus thought of the way Reginald’s lip curled when he came downstairs, dressed in heels and makeup and Allison’s dress and the feeling of rough hands pulling his hair, dragging him away. He nodded. “I understand.”

Jason sagged with relief and Klaus stood, pulling him down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Thank you,” Jason breathed before straightening quickly. “Shit. You’ve got to go.” He stuffed the cash into Klaus’ hand. “He’s going to be here⏤”

A knock came at the door. 

“Now. Shit!” he swore quietly. “Coming, Dad!” Jason looked frantically at Klaus. “What are we going to do? What are we going to _do.”_

“Hey, calm down,” Klaus told him genty. “I’ll go down the fire escape.” 

Jason blinked before grinning, “Yes! Perfect, come one.” He crossed the room quickly, wrenching the window open. Mr. Montgomery knocked again, louder. “Just hold on a sec!” 

Klaus ducked smoothly through the window, pausing to press a quick kiss to Jason’s cheek. “Love you,” he muttered, climbing quickly and silently down to the street below. Above him, the window closed. 

  
  


Six hours later, Klaus sat curled up the edge of a couch in the old dive where he and Jason had met, _their place_ , and glanced at the door every few minutes, hoping Jason might come to fetch him. He’d taken a pill an hour or so ago, but while it had brought Ben to him, Klaus’ anxiety had seemed to summon half a dozen other spirits, who hovered around him, begging him to help as he tried to ignore their mutilated corpses. One of their heads fell from its precarious perch and rolled to his feet, bone and sinew exposed in ragged strings from the wound. Klaus pointedly looked away. 

“Are you okay?” Ben asked, carefully, watching Klaus closely. 

“Fine,” he answered, too quickly. Ben gave him a look and Klaus added, softer, “I’m okay, I⏤ I really do get it.”

There was silence between them for a minute as the song pounded loud over the speakers around them. Then, “You deserve someone who will stand by your side,” Ben told him, sounding sure and confident like he actually believed it. 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Klaus whispered. “I really do understand.”

“Still,” Ben sighed, coming to sit next to him. “He was kinda a jerk about it.”

Klaus didn’t have anything to say to that, too intent on watching the door, hoping Jason would walk through it to come and carry him home.

  
  


When Klaus knocked quietly on the glass of their bedroom window the next morning, Jason raised it with a smile and helped him inside, thanking him in soft murmurs and gentle kisses. He didn’t say anything about not having come to look for Klaus the night before. 

But as an apology for their argument, he bought Klaus a ridiculous amount of the purest shit he could find and they passed the day in a blur of color and sound and sex until Klaus, in an intoxicated logic that only made sense to someone completely out of their head, decided that now was an as good time as any to tell him the truth. 

“Jason?” he asked, stifling giggles. 

“Yeah?” Jason grinned at him lazily. 

Klaus fought to keep his face straight as he said, “I see dead people.”

Jason laughed, pushing his arm teasingly and Klaus cracked up too, even as he insisted, “No, really! I do! I see,” he laughed, gasping for air, “I see,” he could barely speak through his giggles, “I see dead people!”

They both dissolved into hilarity. 

“Klaus I think you’ve had enough.” Jason grinned. 

“I’m serious!” Klaus tried to convince him, not managing to match his expression to his words as his lips twitched. “I’m a real-life ouija board!” 

“An ouija board!” Jason laughed harder and Klaus forgot that he was trying to tell Jason something important and laughed with him, falling against his chest, his stomach aching from it. “You, you can’t be a whee-gee board! You, you don’t have the things the, the, whatever they’re called.” Jason gestured wildly with his hands. “The numbers of words!”

“Letters!” Klaus shrieked and they lost it again. 

He never figured out who agreed to ink him when he was so clearly incapacitated, but Klaus woke up with stinging palms that spelled out _Hello_ and _Goodbye_ in thick dark ink. For a moment it unnerved him how he could have blacked out to the point of not remembering something like that. But in the next, he realized how funny it was and his laughing woke Jason, who laughed as well, promised to serve and _service_ him every day until the tattoos healed. 

***

In the middle of July Jason was cut off. 

It happened abruptly, without warning. One day they were shooting crystal clear heroin and laughing as Saturday morning cartoons played in the background and the next, Jason’s credit card defaulted at the bakery, leaving them to scramble for cash to pay for their pastries and coffee. It took three calls for Jason to figure out what had happened. 

“This is your fault,” he told Klaus, staring at the wall back in their beautiful apartment in muted shock. 

“What?” Klaus was caught completely off guard, freezing where he sat, having been caressing Jason’s arm comfortingly.

“You’re the one who got me into this mess. Who made me forget what is expected of me in life. You’re the one who got me hooked.”

“Excuse me? You’re the one who was buying, I never asked you to— ” 

“Oh please. _Jason_ ,” he began mocking Klaus’ voice _,_ standing and pacing around the room. _“That stuff was so good, Jason. Where do you get stuff so clean, Jason? You know how we should celebrate, Jason?”_

“I didn’t make you take anything you didn’t want to. When we met, you offered to buy me gram instead of a drink for fuck’s sake!” Klaus stood too, his fists clenched by his side.

“It was just a bit of fun until you came along and started showing me up with fucking three hits a day, making me look like a fucking pussy—”

“ _Oh my god!_ Is this seriously some stupid fucking masculinity shit? You started using more because it made you feel like more of a man than me? Seriously, Jason? Because that sounds like a _you problem_ not—”

“Shut up, Klaus! I know that I’m more of a man that you—”

“Fucking this again? Jason, I don’t care if you’re _more of a man than me,_ I don’t give two shits about being some testosterone-pumping meathead, and if my gender expression is a problem for you than I don’t understand why we’re dating in the first place! Or,” he paused, looking Jason up and down cooly. “Is this about what your _father_ finds masculine?” Klaus very firmly did not think about his own father-related issues as he launched that particular accusation. 

“Don’t fucking bring my dad into this!”

“Why? For all your talk, you obviously still care about pleasing him! Why shouldn’t I talk about it?” Klaus spoke with his hands, hurt and anger like a brick in his chest.

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about⏤ !”

“Oh, I don’t? As far as I seem to remember, _you_ kicked _me_ out last month because your dad, who you CLAIM to not give a fuck about, was coming over and you wanted to look like the perfect _straight_ son so that he would keep paying your bills—” 

“Klaus, I am fucking warning you—”

“You can talk about saying ‘fuck you’ to your dad all you want, but I can see right through your stupid fucking front and see that in your core you’re just a little _daddy’s boy_ who is too ashamed of himself to stand up like a _fucking man_ and— ”

The hit came out of nowhere and Klaus was left stunned and crumpled next to the couch, his world shrinking down to nothingness as everything he thought he knew folded around him.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Klaus, I am so sorry.” Jason reached for him with shaking hands and Klaus finched. Jason frozen, horror in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken and small and not like the sun at all. 

“It’s okay,” Klaus whispered back, something old and familiar and yet deeply unsettling creeping into his bones as if it had never left. _You fucking weak, stupid freak_. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” 

Jason helped him up and went to find something cold for his cheek.

  
  


Ben’s stare bore into Klaus as he sat hunched over on the edge of his and Jason’s bed. “It was a really stressful day for him,” Klaus whispered, not looking at his brother. “And he was right, _I_ was the one who used more, it was me who messed him up. And I knew that his whole sexuality thing was still a sensitive issue. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It… was one _really_ bad day. It won’t happen again. It wouldn’t have happened at all if it weren’t for me making it worse,” Klaus spoke too rapidly to be entirely natural. “Are you sure it isn’t me who is bad for him?”

Ben’s frown deepened. “He’s a big boy. He should be able to handle a little criticism. And besides, you didn’t make him do anything, Klaus. Remember how this all started? _He_ offered _you_ a hit.” 

“And I accepted. Guess I got what I wanted,” Klaus joked darkly, turning his back to Ben. He lay curled on his side, his bruised cheek up like a storm cloud over his body. 

“No Klaus, you didn’t,” Ben whispered. He perched on the edge of the bed next to him, long past the time the dose wore off and he faded from Klaus’ view.

***

No matter what anyone says, it will always happen again. Klaus was not special in that regard.

***

Not long after Jason lost his fund, Klaus became the provider in their relationship. It was a point of tension as Jason didn’t seem to know if it was more important to him to get his next hit, or to have Klaus as his alone. 

Either way, he was angry. 

***

Klaus turned twenty-one on the floor of the cramped and dirty kitchen he shared with Jason, their new apartment a far cry from the glossy countertops and polished chrome of their first home. He grinned at Ben through pink teeth and a split lip, his left eye heavy and purple, half a bottle of vodka gripped between his knees. 

“Com’ on, Benny,” he slurred, “you cn’t comp’ain about _ths_!” The bottle sloshed as he lifted in, taking another swift drink. “It’s comp’etely legal!” His laugh sounded more like a sob. “Happy Birthday to us, Happy Birthday to us,” Klaus sang quietly, his head tipping back against the cupboards. 

“Happy Birthday, dear Klaus.” Ben’s tune sounded more like a death march as he watched him.

“Happy Birthday to us.” 

Klaus laughed again, a new trickle of blood running down his face as the wound across his mouth cracked further. He didn’t seem to notice that Ben was crying.

***

Klaus was picked up in a bust at one of his favorite cruising clubs. By an odd stroke of luck, he wasn’t actually high when the cops broke in, though he had been caught quite literally with his pants down, or skirt up as the case was, and cash stuffed in his fist. His panic in the moment had made propositioning the cop arresting him seem like a good idea, which, shocker, _really_ did not help.

It actually made the situation much worse to be honest. 

Though if you asked Klaus, the look of disgust on the cop’s face at the suggestion wasn’t entirely necessary. Nor was the roughness with which he deposited him in the holding cell. 

“Let me know if you change your mind about my offer!” Klaus called after him with a little wave. 

The cop snorted. “I don’t need a hooker to get off, kid. Especially not with a…” he looked Klaus up and down, taking in his skirt and heels, “ _man._ ” His friends laughed like it was an original or even good come back and Klaus rolled his eyes.

“I’m wounded,” he said flatly. “Really, I don’t know what I’ll do now that my precious masculinity has been insulted.”

“You’re pretty mouthy,” the cop stepped up to the bars, looking down his nose at Klaus. 

“Oh, so you _are_ interested in my mouth,” Klaus quipped, grinning. The cop made a motion like he was reaching for the club on his belt and Klaus hid his flinch with a loud laugh. “If you ask me, it’s you who is insecure in his manliness—”

The cop’s baton hit the bars of the cell and Klaus stepped back quickly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d shut up,” the cop hissed. 

Klaus forced the expression of aloofness back on his face. “Whatever you say, _Officer_.” He blinked innocently, settling himself carefully on the few inches of bench that weren’t taken. He crossed his legs daintily and smiled.

“Fucking street slut junkies,” the cop muttered, reholstering his baton as he walked away. “Keep an eye on that one, Brad,” he instructed the watchman. 

“You got it, Jon.”

The night passed without any more significant incident from the guards, leaving Klaus to stew in the fear he’d been trying to control ever since the handcuffs were slapped around his wrists. Every sound made him jump and look wildly to the door, convinced that Reginald had come for him. The guards chuckled at that, making snarky comments about withdrawal. Klaus ignored them, having other far more threatening things to worry about.

He resolved to wedge himself in a corner and wait, though in the hours between his arrest and lights out, there was no sign of his father. At some point, Klaus decided that it was too late for him to still turn up that night, though the suspense did nothing to ease his worry. _How like him,_ Klaus thought, _to make me wait for my punishment._ It was the type of mind-game Klaus was far too familiar with.

In the dark, Klaus was forced to face how terribly alone he was, the air beside him horrible in its emptiness. “Ben?” he whispered. There was no response beyond a few mutterings to ‘shut up’ from the others attempting to sleep. Klaus curled up tighter and imagined that Ben was next to him. As his breathing evened out and he fell towards sleep, Klaus could nearly feel Ben’s hand closing over his own. 

“And here we have the overnight crowd, picked up from the bust that vice pulled off yesterday. I’m sure all of you have heard about it by now.” The loud voice of the officer and the sudden harsh light from above woke Klaus from his uneasy sleep. 

Groaning slightly, he sat up, stiff from spending the night cramped up on the cement floor. Around him, the others were getting up too and the sea of training officers were momentarily blocked from sight. Klaus got up and straightened out his skirt as much as possible. 

“As you can see, the bust went fairly well in terms of numbers, though we didn’t get any top dealers. This is mostly just low-level junkies and,” the cop snorted, “a few hookers.” 

“Thank you for the introduction, darling, but I really prefer the honorific of _slut_ ." Klaus grinned wildly as he waved to the group of suddenly very uncomfortable group of cadets. “Now, not that I don’t love entertaining you and your friends, _officer_ , but I was wondering if anyone was going to tell me when I’m going to get out of—” Klaus choked on his words as he caught sight of Diego staring at him slack-jawed. 

Somehow, despite how humiliating the situation was for him, Klaus’ first thought was still, _I’m saved._

“Cut out the dramatics and sit down. You’ll see a judge with everyone else later today.” He turned back to the group following him. “I think that’s enough entertainment for one morning.” He rolled his eyes. “Cadets, get your asses upstairs.” 

The group began shuffling away, murmuring between themselves. Diego stood there for a moment, locking eyes with Klaus until one of the women in the group called back to him, paused on the stairs. 

“Diego! Come on, Sarg’ is going to flip if you’re late again.” 

Seeming to come back to himself, Diego shook his head. “Coming, Eudora,” he said, turning away from Klaus and going to join her. 

“Wait—” Klaus called after him.

Diego paused and looked back towards him one more time. He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head minisculely. Klaus started to speak again but Diego fashed a quick sign that he remembered well from missions of their childhood. _Hold your position._

Klaus nodded quickly and then Diego was gone.

  
  


Klaus waited anxiously through the next hours, sending a wild prayer to the Little Girl in the sky, for all the good she ever did him, that Diego moved faster than Reginald. He denied his phone call, the line at his and Jason’s apartment was disconnected at the moment and he didn’t have Diego’s number. Instead, he paced the cell, trying to ignore the first warning signs of withdrawal while he ran through every possible scenario of what could happen. 

Roughly seventeen hours after he was arrested, the guard came to tell Klaus’ group that they would be transferred to the courthouse within the hour for arraignment. Klaus’ stomach dropped out at the news. Diego hadn’t come yet and if Reginald was going to be anywhere, it would be the courtroom. That would be like him. If Klaus got anything from his father, other than trauma, it was a flair for the dramatic. 

For the next forty minutes, Klaus watched the clock intensely, each minute that slipped past feeling like another nail in his coffin. In his _Crypt._ Just as he was about to abandon all hope, a familiar figure appeared, framed in the doorway like the comic book hero he was in their youth. Diego, now dressed in streetwear rather than his uniform, entered the holding area, trailed by a hassled looking woman of about fifty who carried a briefcase. 

Reflexively, Klaus stood, a relieved smile turning up the corners of his lips. He hadn’t been abandoned. 

Diego flashed him a warning look to stay silent as he addressed the officer at the desk. “Hey, I have a lawyer asking to meet with her client.”

The cop sighed. “Name?”

“Gillian Reid for Hargreeves, Klaus,” the woman answered in a clipped professional tone. 

The officer glanced at the cell. 

Klaus waved back cheerfully. 

He sighed. “Fine. Make it fast. You’re cutting it close to the arraignment, huh?”

“I find that there is always time to grant unalienable rights, don’t you, Dan?” the lawyer, evidently, responded, smirking lightly. 

Klaus found himself warming to her. He did his best to retain his cool while he was led out of the cell and down a hallway to an interrogation room, the silence between the three of them brimming with tension. 

When the door finally closed, leaving them alone, Klaus slumped with relief, grinning. “Shit, Diego, I was doubting you for a minute there, but you really pulled through. What’s the plan for getting out of here?”

Diego stared at him. “The plan? Gillian has _graciously,”_ he gave Klaus a very pointed look, _“_ agreed to take your case pro bono⏤ for free. She’s going to represent you and you’re going to get this whole… thing cleared up.”

It was Klaus’ turn to be shocked. “What?”

“I am an experienced lawyer, Klaus,” Gillian spoke up, startling Klaus. “I assure you I am more than competent. If you would be more comfortable talking about what happened with your brother out of the room I am sure he would understand. However, we should get started as we don’t have a lot of time.”

Klaus blinked at her. “Right. Not to be rude or anything… but could I actually have a minute with Diego first?”

“Klaus⏤” Diego started to warn. 

“I need to talk to him about something. Privately,” Klaus finished, still looking at Gillian. 

She glanced between the brothers, assessing, before giving a sharp nod. “Sure. Take five. I will be just outside.” She made her exit quickly, closing the door behind her silently. 

There was a beat before⏤ 

“What the hell?”

“What the fuck?”

They spoke at almost the same time, each brother staring at the other in confusion and disappointment. 

“Klaus,” Diego pressed on before Klaus had the chance. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to, what, help you break out of jail? I’m in the police academy.”

“Which is something we’re going to talk about, _believe me_ , but we don’t have time for that right now.” Klaus found himself getting angry when three minutes before he would have kissed Diego’s feet. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to let myself be exposed like that in a courtroom.”

“I am not breaking you out of jail!”

“Then… I don’t know, talk someone into letting me go! Tell them I’m your brother. Come on, Diego. Use your position or something!”

“Would you lower your voice?” Diego hissed. “Stop shouting about illegal activity in the police station, please. Not that it matters, because I’m not doing that. For one, I don’t have a position, I’m a cadet. And two, Klaus, I am not a crooked cop.”

“All cops are crooked cops,” Klaus snarked. 

“Klaus,” Diego warned.

“Come on, Diego. It’s not like I killed someone! It’s a fucking minor charge. The evidence is circumstantial at best. How are they to know the money was for sex? And anyone who was panicking would offer to blow the cop⏤”

“Klaus!” Diego hissed, his eyes widening.

He barreled on, unconcerned. “Just ask someone for a favor! Please.”

Diego blushed, speaking low but intensely, “I said be quiet! Come on, Klaus. You know how important our cover is, no one even knows I have brothers. I can’t just go in there and ask them to let you off. They’re going to start asking questions and I can’t jeopardize my career⏤”

“Bullshit,” Klaus muttered, low and serious as something ugly began to click in his mind.

“What?” Diego stopped, looking at him, an unmistakable waiver of surprise and guilt passing over his face before he quickly controlled himself again.

“You’re embarrassed,” Klaus said quietly as his suspicion was confirmed. There was an unsettling cold creeping down his spine. “That’s why you didn’t say anything before in front of the people this morning. Not because you had a plan to help me. Because you’re embarrassed.’

“Klaus, you were arrested for prostitution!”

Only Klaus’ anger was enough in that moment to be stronger than his shame at Diego knowing that. 

“So what?” he bit out defensively.

“So what? Klaus!” Diego shouted. “What the fuck is happening?” he muttered to himself, as if he couldn’t believe the state his day had ended up in.

“Ugh!” Klaus groaned. He grit his teeth. “I don’t have fucking time for this, Diego. I know I’m a _disgrace_ ⏤”

Diego rolled his eyes.

“ ⏤ but… I just fucking need your help, okay?” Some of the wind went out of Klaus at that admission. He looked at Diego sadly, defeated. 

“I’m trying to help you, Klaus,” Diego said, his tone softening as well. “That’s why I called Gillian. She is a good lawyer. You’ll get off light, I swear. And then we’ll figure this out, okay?” 

“Diego, I can't go to court.”

“I know it’s embar⏤ _hard_. But it’s going to be fine.”

“No, Diego you don’t understand.” Urgency crept back into Klaus’ voice as he tried to communicate the importance of the situation. 

“Klaus, I told you I can’t⏤” 

“He’s going to find me, Diego!” Klaus cried, his voice breaking in panic. He dug his hands in his hair, his fingers tangling in the messy, greasy curls. In the midst of his distress, Klaus thought wildly, _Fuck, I need a shower._

“What are you talking about?” Diego demanded, halfway between angry at his insistence and concerned at Klaus’ clear distress. 

“Dad.”

“What?” A flicker of fear passed over Diego’s eyes.

“If I fucking go to court, Dad is going to show up and… I don’t know. Fucking take me back.”

“Klaus, you’re an adult. And this is court, not school. They don’t call your parents when you get arrested.”

Klaus laughed bitterly. “Oh. But I’m not a real adult.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Dad has this fucking _conservatorship_ bullshit thing,” Klaus told him desperately. “It means he can legally control me. Like I’m still a kid. I don’t have any fucking rights, Diego. And I know he’s going to know about this. For all I know they actually fucking _called_ him. He’s going to show up and he’s going to throw his money around or something and he’s going to take me back. I can’t go back, Diego. I⏤ Fuck. I _can’t._ Please.” 

Diego stared at Klaus, who stood there, his eyes rimmed with red and his face openly pleading for mercy. “Fuck,” he said, looking away from Klaus. There was another pause during which Klaus barely breathed before, “Fine. Wait here,” he told Klaus seriously. Diego stormed out of the room, muttering something Klaus couldn’t hear to Gillian as he went. 

Both she and Klaus watched after him while he marched down the hall, grumbling something to himself as he went. 

“Everything okay?” Gillians asked curtly, stepping into the room. 

“We’ll see,” Klaus answered, wrapping his arms around himself. We may not need you after all.”

Gillian opened her mouth to respond to that but seemed to change her mind, shutting it again with a snap of the teeth. 

The two of them stood in awkward silence for several long minutes, Klaus’ heart beating rapidly and Gillian shifting uncomfortably while she alternated between watching him and the door. Finally, the sound of footsteps came down the hallway again and Klaus had to stop himself from running to see who it was. 

A moment later, Diego appeared in the doorway, looking no less annoyed than he had when he left. “Come on,” he said, snagging Klaus around the upper arm. “We’re going.” He began marching Klaus out the door and down the hall, calling as he went, “Gillian, I’m sorry. _Thank you,_ and I’ll explain later.” They were gone before Gillian could recover enough from her surprise to respond. 

Diego led Klaus upstairs and to the desk so he could get his things back, not saying another word while as they made their way out of the building. They walked together down the sidewalk some ways, Klaus blinking in the bright light, his few possessions clutched to his chest, still reeling from the events of the past few minutes. Finally, as they passed the third subway stop, Klaus managed to choke out, “Thank you, Diego.’

Diego looked at him sadly. “You’re my brother, Klaus. It’s... what you do for family.”

They both looked away, embarrassed by the genuine emotion. 

“Are you okay?” Diego asked after a moment passed, stealing glances at Klaus from the corner of his eye as they walked. 

Klaus tugged self-consciously on the hem of his skirt, feeling pinned under Diego’s concern. “Fine.”

“Klaus,” Diego started to say before stopping himself. 

Despite knowing he wouldn’t like the answer, Klaus prompted, “Yeah?”

“Klaus,” Diego began again, stealing himself. “What happened? How did you… how did this happen?”

He shrugged. “You’ve met _Daddy-dearest._ ”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I pulled a _you_. I ran away. Summer after we turned eighteen. I didn’t have anywhere to go.” Klaus hesitated before saying, “You weren’t at the safe house.” Klaus stole a glance to his side.

Diego’s eyes widened with unmistakable guilt.

Still angry but feeling a little bad for that comment, Klaus looked away, continuing, “Dad got me hooked on fucking narcotics when I was twelve. The rest all fell into place. It’s not like it was your fault.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Dad used the… _drugs_ ,” for some strange reason, Klaus almost whispered the word, suddenly embarrassed by it, “as a justification for why I shouldn’t be allowed to live on my own. Now, he, like, owns the rights to me or whatever. Hence, why I had to fucking dip on the court thing.”

“Fuck him,” Diego hissed. 

Klaus snorted in agreement, trying to discreetly rub his arms. It was too chilly outside to be dressed like he was.

Diego didn’t miss the motion, however. He watched Klaus with a crease between his eyebrows, speaking carefully as he offered, “Look, Klaus. I’m really sorry I wasn’t there, okay? But this time I mean it, okay? I’m here and shit. I have a place. It’s not much, but you could stay with me now. If you want.” 

The tiny part of Klaus’ heart that he had never managed to lock away jumped at that offer, his inner little boy longing to go home with his figurative big brother who always somehow made everything okay. The part of Klaus that knew better than to believe in anything kept him from accepting immediately. 

They walked silently for almost half a block while Klaus processed that. “What makes you think I want your help?” he asked finally.

“Klaus, come on—”

“I’ve been on my own for a while now, Diego, and I’m doing just fine—”

“Klaus, you were arrested for prostitution at a fucking drug den!”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, sheesh. I swear, you’ve gotten so uptight. I’m going to start calling you Luther.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this argument with you.” Diego took a moment to control his anger, dragging his hand across his eyes and down his face. “Klaus. Look, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean to offend you. I just…” he sighed, his voice growing softer, “I’m just surprised and,” he hesitated, “ _worried_ about you. Alright? I just want to help.”

Klaus sighed. “I know,” he admitted grudgingly. 

Diego nodded silently.

“Thank you,” Klaus added quietly. 

Diego nodded. They kept walking until Diego asked again, more pointedly, “Klaus, _do_ you have a place to stay?

Klaus thought of the shitty apartment he and Jason had been sharing for the last couple of months. How angry Jason would be when he finally came home without a penny to show for the now almost thirty hours he’d been gone. He thought of the golden sunny days of that summer and the way that Jason had smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, told him that he was brilliant, magical, beautiful. How he’d been the first to hold him so tenderly Klaus felt like he was worth something. “Yeah, I do.”

Diego hesitated. “Is it a good place?”

Klaus thought of the broken window and the roaches he’d seen earlier that week. “It’s with someone I care about.” 

That seemed to surprise Diego. “Oh, well, I’m happy for you then.”

“Thanks,” Klaus whispered. 

“Right,” Diego said somewhat awkwardly. “Well. If there _is_ ever anything that you need, you can call me. Okay? Here.” He thrust a piece of paper at Klaus. “It’s my address and phone number. If you’re ever in trouble or just want to… talk or something.” He blushed and looked away as Klaus slowly took the paper. 

“Thanks, Diego. I’m⏤ It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Diego agreed, looking back at him, seeming to slowly look him over properly for the first time. “It’s good to see you too.” They stared at each other hovering somewhere between awkward and emotional. Klaus was about to make a teasing comment on Diego’s new bulk when Diego grinned, “You’ve gotten taller.”

Klaus smirked, “You’re a fucking _cop_.”

“A cop _in training._ But yeah.”

“You’re a real hero or something.” 

Diego made a face, “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Klaus laughed, “Yeah, you’re right. That’s too far.”

Diego punched his arm teasingly and they laughed. “Hey,” Diego asked, “Do you want to come over now? Or get something to eat? I’ll pay.” He smiled, looking something close to hopeful and Klaus was tempted to agree. Then he remembered Jason sitting at home, getting more worried, or more accurately, angrier, every minute that Klaus was gone.

“Thanks, Diego, really, but not today. I have someone waiting for me.”

Diego hid his disappointment fairly well. “Oh, right. Of course. And I’m sure you want to get cleaned up.” He glanced at Klaus’ outfit again. “But, hey, bring her over sometime okay? I want to meet this girl you love.”

Klaus’ stomach clenched. He didn’t have anything against women. He quite liked them in fact. Klaus had never been one to discriminate between lovers on the biases of gender and was not all opposed to the general concept of falling in love with a woman. All the same, it was pretty bold of Diego to _assume._ He looked down at himself to check that he was still wearing what he thought he was. Klaus thought he looked pretty fucking gay. 

“Right. Sure.” He smiled tightly back at Diego. “I should get going.”

“Right,” Diego hesitated, not seeming sure what to do. “Well, I’ll see you, right?”

“Right.”

“And you will call me if you need to, right?” he pressed, looking at Klaus intently.

“Right.” 

“Okay.” They looked at each other for another minute. 

“Okay,” Klaus said finally, rubbing out his cigarette butt on the wall of the building next to him. “Thank you, Diego, really. I’ll… call soon, ok?” He hesitated, a hug seemed like it would be too weird so he held up a hand for a high-five. 

Diego looked at him strangely. 

It took Klaus a beat to remember. _Oh, right._ “Intoxicated tattoo choice. Thought it would be more convenient. Less talking. Make me more of a real ouija board.” Klaus blushed a little.

Cracking a smile, Diego smacked his hand. “You? Wanting to talk less? I can’t imagine.”

Klaus laughed, nodded reluctantly. “See the intoxicated part.”

Diego smiled again. “I’ll see you around.” 

Klaus nodded and started to walk away when Diego called out one more time, “Take care of yourself, Klaus. Okay? You’re too skinny.” 

Klaus smiled and waved. 

Diego’s offer ran through Klaus’ head on a loop while he slowly made his way home, everything in him aching from the inside out. He couldn’t allow himself a moment to rest because if he did, he would find himself turning around to follow the address tucked close to his heart. 

Yet, he knew he couldn’t. Klaus knew that Diego wouldn’t want any of his shit, that he was moving on in life. He was training to be a fucking _cop_ for Christ’s sake. Diego offered help because that was what he was supposed to do, because he felt bad for his embarrassment, because he was a hero. His offer was one of obligation, and while Klaus was self-admittedly selfish, he couldn't bring himself to ruin Diego's new life.

_But,_ Klaus thought, a few hours later as he climbed unsteadily into the shower, fresh bruises and his own blood splattered down his chin and chest, _how wonderful would it have been, if Diego had meant it?_

***

Jason’s mother called on Christmas Eve. She’d convinced Mr. Montgomery to give Jason another chance, provided he went to rehab and agreed to start working for the family business as soon as he got clean. Jason could have everything back, his trust fund, his family, his life. 

He left without a backward glance.

Klaus spent Christmas with Ben, the two of them alone in the crumbling apartment Jason had abandoned. He wasn’t sure if it was sadder that he’d been the one who was left, or that he missed Jason more than oxygen. 

Or perhaps, more accurately, he missed feeling like he was loved.

It had been months since Jason had made him feel like that, but at least when he was there Klaus could pretend. The shattering of his illusion hurt almost as much as the scrapes on his upper arm, left from a broken bottle, Jason’s parting gift that would leave a reminder of their relationship long into the future. 

***

There was no food in the house. Jason was supposed to go grocery shopping but he went to his parents instead. 

He’d also taken the last of the cash for a taxi uptown. Klaus didn’t care much, except for when he finally ran out of booze and pills, but even then he couldn’t find the energy to get up and find more. Ignoring Ben’s pleas and concern, he turned over on the mattress and waited until his brother faded away. 

***

On the twenty-eighth, the heat went out. Klaus curled up tighter and watched as his nails turned faintly blue. 

***

He missed the rent payment and ignored the pounding on his door. Only two more days left until the year, the year of Jason, was wiped away. 

***

The landlord used his spare key to break into the apartment the next day and force Klaus out. Yet, sitting on the icy stoop outside his now former apartment, all he owned in the world stuffed into one frayed backpack at his feet, Klaus felt only numb, like the cold had already seeped into his core. 

_Now what._ He could almost hear Ben’s voice. 

Klaus wondered what normal people did after a breakup. Stay with friends. Eat ice cream. Cry to their mom. Klaus didn’t have any of those things. In the past two years, there had really only ever been one place where he always knew he could go when he was desperate and had nothing else. 

He climbed the shitty, broken porch steps with feet that felt like stone and a chest that burned with emptiness. Klaus knocked, his raw, cracking knuckles stinging in the dry winter air. The paint of the door was peeling off in long strips that remind Klaus of rotting flesh falling from bone.

The door flew open from under him, nearly sending Klaus falling as his support fell away, his body too tired to keep going much longer, in dire need of food and rest and a hit. The occupant of the house looked down at him, annoyance and surprise sliding into corrupted delight as he realized just who was standing in obvious desperation before him.

“Happy New Year, Klaus.” Earl smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter deals with a relationship that spirals into very unhealthy territory before it outright turns abusive. The warning signs build throughout the chapter until there is one physical hit near the middle of the chapter. This is the only direct physical abuse that happens on the page but there are other mentions of injuries/aftermath. 
> 
> National Abuse Hotline (USA): 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
> 
> TW: Continued mentions of prostitution and cops being assholes but no outright brutality. There are some mild threats and the most violent thing a cop does is hit his club on cell bars to get someone to stop talking. 
> 
> TW: Homophobia (mostly in reference to Klaus wearing "women's" clothing), internalized homophobia, and references to Reggie's homophobic actions in Ch 7 
> 
> ***
> 
>   
> Look. I am genuinely sorry, okay?
> 
> But still, thank you so much for reading. Please leave your thoughts and feedback below! I will adore you forever if you do 
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


	14. Ye Who Enter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate_**
> 
> **Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.**
> 
> ~Dante's Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW at end*
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than normal. This is because Ch 14 and 15 were once one mega chapter, but I decided to split it into two, unlike the behemoth of Monday. Lmk if you think this is effective or not? Or if this comes up again, would you prefer 8,000+ word chapters instead? Idk what I'm doing. I'm flying blind, my people. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this angsty mess!

When he went to the house, Klaus wasn’t sure what use Earl would have for him, in the long term at least. Earl was a reliable source of quick cash or, more often, a quick high, and he never hid that Klaus was exactly his type. However, despite his lewd comments on the few occasions that Klaus had turned to him out of desperation, assuring Klaus that he was welcome to come back at any time, he was unsure how serious Earl actually was, or what the arrangement would exactly be when Klaus finally took him up on his offer. 

Klaus tried not to think about how nervous that made him. 

Ben didn’t stop talking about how scared it made him. “Klaus, this is not what I meant when I said you needed to leave—”

Klaus didn’t even glance in his direction, though at least he had the excuse of being currently unable to hear his brother, however unlikely it was that he would have listened had he been able to. 

When Klaus arrived on Earl’s doorstep he was already in the state that Earl preferred, timid, tired, and desperately sober. 

“Hey, would you look at that,” Earl leered down at Klaus, looking like his teeth were bared to bite.

“Hi, Earl.” Klaus shrank almost minisculely, his shoulders curling in a hair as he lowered his jaw a fraction of an inch.

“Is this a social call? Should I put on the kettle?” Earl’s English accent was awful but Klaus forced a smile. Earl continued, “Or are you here for more than a friendly chit-chat?” The grin spread wider as he leaned into the doorframe. Klaus made himself smaller to accommodate. 

“Actually, Earl, I...uh, wanted to finally take you up on your offer,” Klaus drew himself together as well as he was able, and forced himself to look up at Earl.

“Oh?” Earl’s eyebrows went up, his voice measured.

“Your _generous_ offer,” Klaus amended quickly, as he looked down, his heart jumped nervously. 

“And what offer would that be?” Earl feigned confusion as he looked down at Klaus, barely dampening the amused satisfaction that twitched at the corner of his lips. 

“To stay. Here. With you.” Klaus was pinned under Earl’s gaze as he waited for the game to end, but it seemed Earl wasn’t going to give in until Klaus did. “To be a more regular...service to you.”

“Ah!” Earl exclaimed in fake sudden understanding. “Now I remember that, like you said, _very_ generous offer. I did make that suggestion, didn’t I? Damn, it seems like I get a little too happy when I’m done fucking you. I’m not sure if this… arrangement would be such a good idea after all.” Earl gazed at Klaus calculating. “Why assume the offer still stands? You have turned me down a few times already. Maybe I’ve found someone else.”

“Maybe,” Klaus started, digging his nails into his palms, the memory of the cold winter he’d spent on the streets leaking ice into his bones. “Maybe, I could convince you?”

There was a beat before Earl smiled again, “I guess one more chance couldn’t hurt, now could it?” He stepped back, opening the door wider to allow Klaus inside. “After you.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Klaus could hear a voice that sounded a lot like Ben’s shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words. 

Behind him, Earl closed the door. 

***

“Klaus.”

He blinked, turning his head slowly to look at Ben through half-lidded eyes. Klaus said nothing.

Ben’s face was pinched in worry as he continued, “Can you hear me?”

There was a long pause before he responded quietly, “Yes.”

Ben’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. “Do you know where you are?”

Klaus looked around the room slowly, still unmoving. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

“Earl’s.”

Ben grimaced and answered, “Yes, unfortunately.” 

“Can I go back to bed now?” Klaus groaned, his eyes already fluttering.

“No!” Ben said quickly, “No, Klaus. You can’t.”

Klaus groaned, struggling to open his eyes again. “Why?”

“You probably have a concussion, and if not, you’ve taken too much for me to be confident that you’ll wake up again.”

“Lame,” Klaus moaned. But he forced his eyes open again.

“Where does it hurt?” Ben asked his voice cracking as he looked helplessly at Klaus.

Klaus laughed in a rasping gasp. 

“Touche,” Ben muttered, glancing at the state of him. 

“My head is the worst,” Klaus offered.

“Is that because of the drugs or the egg-sized lump?”

Klaus shrugged. 

It went quiet as Klaus slowly breathed and Ben watched him with worried eyes and tight lips.

“You need to get out of here, Klaus,” he told him in a sad echo of the past four or so years, which seemed to simply play out in different variations endlessly.

Klaus considered that statement. It had been almost four months since he’d knocked on Earl’s door and though spring hadn’t quite arrived yet, it was around the corner. The days were getting longer and warmer and the threat of snow and freezing temperatures was all but passed. There was another beat of silence before he responded. “Yeah. You might be right, Benny.”

***

“Where are you going, Klaus baby?”

Klaus froze, his hand clutching the door in a white-knuckled grip. Not turning to look behind him, he answered, “Just going to get something to eat, Earl.”

Earl laughed hollowly, coming up behind him and reaching past Klaus’ shoulder to push the door closed. “We still have some Chinese in the fridge.”

“Oh, I thought you would like to eat that,” Klaus answered, slipping into a quick smile as he turned around in the narrow sliver of space, still framed by Earl’s arm. 

Earl leered back, pressing closer. “Nah, you feel free to help yourself. What’s mine is yours.”

“Always so generous,” Klaus breathed, trying to sound light and carefree.

“You eat like a little birdy anyway, there will still be enough later if I feel like it.”

“Right.” Klaus made to walk back into the kitchen but Earl did not move. “Well, I’ll just help myself then,” he said brightly, glancing quickly from Earl to the fridge.

After another beat Earl backed off, still grinning. He held out his arm, ushering Klaus back into the house. Hesitantly, Klaus moved back into the kitchen and under Earl’s eye, opened the fridge. The white boxes of leftovers were one of the few things in there beyond a handful of eggs, mostly empty bottles of condiments, worryingly brownish-red stains, and a pile of brown sludge that Klaus had no intention of touching. He snatched the box of chow mein and closed the door quickly. It took a few minutes of searching through drawers to find a fork among the handfuls of free-floating uncooked pasta, loose pills, broken pipes, and crumpled takeout menus. The time felt much longer with Earl sitting at the table, watching as Klaus picked his way gingerly around the kitchen, his eyes followed Klaus as he came to perch across from him. 

Picking at the noodles that he didn’t really want, Klaus squirmed in his chair, annoyingly sober. It was quiet for an agonizing half an hour while he forced a few small bites down in an effort to help with his story. Finally giving up, Klaus set the carton down. 

Earl grinned. “See, like a little canary. No wonder you’re so thin.”

Klaus shrugged stiffly. “Not as hungry as I thought, I guess.” 

“Right,” Earl said slowly, keeping Klaus pinned with his gaze. “Here’s the thing, Klaus. I’m not sure I believe you.”

Fear clenched in his stomach. “Oh?” he asked, forcing himself to appear calm and unbothered. “What do you mean?”

“I think you were going to run away.” Earl leaned back, considering Klaus smugly, watching in amusement as fear flickered across Klaus’ face. 

“Why would I do that?” he managed to say, widening his eyes in false innocence. 

“I don’t know, why would you want to do such a thing when I have given you everything you have asked for?” The amusement had left Earl’s face, which was now drawn hard and cold. 

Klaus couldn’t speak, he sat frozen in his place. 

“I think,” Earl continued, “that you’ve grown dissatisfied with your place here. You’ve grown ungrateful for what I have done for you.”

“No! No, of course not,” Klaus stuttered. “Why, why would you think that?”

“Klaus, please.” 

He deflated, “It’s not that I am ungrateful, Earl,” he began, curling tighter into himself, “it’s just that… I miss… other things.”

“Other things?”

Klaus shrunk into himself.

“Like?” Earl pressed.

“Like… going out.”

“What, so you miss having to slum around the corners and clubs to find a date? You miss having to whore yourself around the block for a bed and a meal?”

“No!” Klaus scrambled to backpedal, realizing what was coming. “I didn't⏤”

“Well,” Earl said, smiling. “I can help you with that.”

Klaus cursed Ben for his meddling lies about what he deserved, and himself for ever having believed them. 

***

Klaus was eviscerated, every layer of him stripped away into nothingness. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, imagining himself far away in the black and white valley, free under a cloudless sky. He left his body behind, the hands that claimed him utterly meaningless as he floated in a world that no one could ever touch. 

***

“Klaus—”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Ben.” He lounged against a wall, the bricks pressing uncomfortably into this back. 

“Klaus, come on—” 

“Tell me, who’s idea was it to leave Earl?”

“We _agreed_ that—”

“I was fucking fine until you butted in and—”

“You know what Klaus, no. No, you _fucking_ weren’t and you know it.”

Klaus snapped his mouth shut and looked away, blinking quickly. “Maybe not, but is this any better?” He rubbed his arms roughly against the chill of the night air before fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. 

Ben didn’t say anything for a long minute, leaning back against the building alongside Klaus. “You could still leave.”

Klaus laughed. Earl didn’t let go of property easily and there would be few willing to defend him when Earl came looking. “Come on Ben, you’re not stupid. What am I going to do, move to Connecticut and live on a farm?”

“Well,” 

Klaus shot Ben a dirty look. 

“You could get clean.” Ben didn’t even sound halfway convinced himself.

Klaus, rolled his eyes, “Oh please, Benny, you know you’d miss me too much if I did that.” He winked before sliding a flirty smile on and slinking towards the car that had pulled up. 

***

Ben knew Klaus could see him, he’d taken enough over the past week to bowl over a small horse, but his eyes never seemed to focus on Ben, staring blankly somewhere beyond him. 

“Klaus?” There was no reaction. “Klaus? I know you can see me,” Ben couldn’t quite keep the fear from his voice as he tried to play the role of annoyed brother. 

He twitched. 

“Klaus, you’re not that good of an actor, I know that you can hear me.”

Klaus’ lips moved and Ben leaned in quickly.

“What? Klaus, I can’t hear you.”

His eyes rolled lazily in the direction of Ben, registering him. “Oh.”

“What?” Ben asked urgently. 

“You’re here.”

Confusion flickered across Ben’s face. “I’m always here.”

“I wasn’t sure… I… was confused,” Klaus spoke slowly, his brow knitted together as his eyes rolled in and out of focus. 

“What do you mean you were confused? Klaus? Are you okay?”

“I’m.... tired.”

Panic pricked Ben’s stomach, “I don’t think that you should go to sleep, Klaus.”

“I’m not going to. I can’t.” Klaus turned his head away, staring into the far corners of the room. Before Ben could ask what he meant, he continued, “It’s too loud.”

Ben looked around the room in confusion. They were strangely alone, considering how high Klaus was. There was no reason why he should have been in such control, and yet there were no other ghosts there that Ben could see.

When he turned back to look at Klaus, he seemed to have fallen into his daze again, his eyes lazily watching something very far away that Ben could not see. “Okay,” he whispered, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, “I’m right next to you Klaus. I’m right here. If you need me.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Klaus murmured. He was too out of it to notice the way Ben’s face pinched in fear and sadness. 

***

“Fucking Jerry!” Earl chucked a mug against the wall and Klaus flinched as it shattered. “ _Idiot_ lost us five thousand because he couldn’t tell the difference between a nark and trust-fund kid.” He paced back and forth a few more times as Klaus tried to draw back even further in the corner. He didn’t really feel like being Earl’s stress-relief at the moment. 

“Little fucker better not flip if he knows what’s good for him. I’m going to kill him as-is for getting caught, but if he’s a snake then I’m going to make him suffer first.”

“I can tell the difference.” The sentence was out before Klaus had the chance to filter it, a vague idea of a plan forming in his mind.

Earl froze, unused to being addressed so abruptly. He turned to look at Klaus, who was suddenly very aware of how stupid he had just been to give up his location unnecessarily. “What?”

Knowing there was no backtracking now, Klaus repeated, “I can tell the difference. Between a cop and a trust fund kid, I mean. I do it all the time when I’m figuring out which creep to fuck.” He shrugged, attempting to look casual as his heart hammered in his chest.

“So what, you’re smarter than an idiot. What does that have to do with anything?”

Feeling unexpectedly fortunate to be sober and clear-headed, Klaus took a breath before saying, “I could take Jerry’s place.”

Earl stared at him for a beat before he laughed. “Ha, that’s a good one, kid. Didn’t know you were a comedian.” 

Swallowing every instinct that was screaming at him to shut up and shrink down, Klaus started slowly, “I’m serious, Earl. I think that I could help you sell.” 

Earl looked at him consideringly. “Oh?”

Klaus shifted uncomfortably, “Um, yeah. I mean, like I said, I know which guys are actually looking for a hit and who’s trying to run a bust. And yeah, the cops know my face, but they just think I’m a hooker so they’re not going to look too closely at what I’m doing— they mostly just bother the girls if they’re going after streetwalkers.” 

“You know the business?” There was a note of danger in Earl’s voice. “So you’ve been spying on me?”

“What? No!” Klaus worked quickly to do damage control. “I just mean that I’ve seen a lot, you know, just from being around, not trying to listen in or anything, just from when you’re talking to me, or from being in the kitchen when Jerry and the others are around. I didn’t try to spy, I swear.” 

Earl watched him for a moment before smirking, “Ha. So you’re not just a pretty face, huh? Guess I should have been more careful talking in front of you if I didn’t want you to pick up on stuff. Look at you, Birdie, you’ve got some brains in ya.”

Klaus didn’t dare move, watching Earl carefully to see what his final verdict was going to be. 

“Well, I guess you’ve made a point, Birdie. We’ll do a test run, see how you do.”

A fraction of the tension that was in Klaus’ shoulders eased. “Thank you, Earl. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m just concerned you’re going to forget about your other duties if you start spending too much time on this new assignment. I’m still your host you know.”

“Of course,” Klaus breathed, “I would never forget about you, Earl.”

“See that you don’t,” Earl told him darkly as he crossed to where Klaus still sat curled around himself in the corner. He stood over him, staring down at Klaus’ hunched form before taking his chin in his hand. Earl tilted Klaus’ face up to kiss him harshly. “Show me you’re serious about that promise,” he ordered. 

Silently, Klaus stood and allowed Earl to lead him upstairs. 

***

“Klaus, what are you doing?”

“Benny, good to see you again,” Klaus smirked at his brother as he counted the cash for a third time. 

“You are supposed to be getting away from Earl, not become his business partner.”

“It’s all part of the plan, Benjamin.” 

“Klaus.”

Klaus rolled his eyes and sighed. “Watch and learn, Benny.” He counted out a few bills from the wad he was carrying and folded them neatly. Flashing them exaggeratedly in Ben’s face, Klaus bent and stuffed the cash into his boot. 

“Klaus,” Ben’s voice went sharp in fear, “you can’t steal from Earl. There is no way he’s not going to notice that money is missing.” 

“Ah,” Klaus held up a finger, grinning, “but no money IS missing.”

Ben stared at him flatly. 

Klaus sighed, “Benny, catch up. I marked up the prices two percent from what Earl said to sell them at. I’ll give him exactly the amount he is expecting to get and pocket the rest. It’s not a lot right now, but I can’t inflate the prices too much or people will catch on, and I can’t do it on every deal or Earl might hear complaints about his prices too soon. It might take a while, but I’ll save up the cash eventually.” Klaus shrugged, trying to look indifferent but not quite hiding his sense of pride in his plan.

Ben stared at him. “That is incredibly risky, Klaus.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Klaus quipped.

“Actually, yes, you could get—”

“Nevermind.” 

“Klaus, if Earl catches you he will literally _actually_ kill you.”

“You know the more times you say that, the less the impact is,” Klaus told him dryly. 

“Klaus, you know I’m right.”

“I think that he’s going to kill me eventually no matter what, so I might as well make an attempt for freedom while I can. And hey, if I can screw him over while I do it, all the better. I am versatile.” Klaus winked in attempts to hide the way his voice had broken as he admitted the danger of the situation he was in. 

Ben bit his lip, watching Klaus, who was pointedly not looking at him. “Be careful, Klaus. Please.”

“Aw, Benny, you know I always am.” Klaus smiled jokingly but when he turned to look at Ben and saw the expression on his face, his grin faded and he whispered, “I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter deals with Klaus being manipulated and used by an abusive man. He uses drugs and threats of violence to get Klaus to do what he wants, including prostitution. As always with this fic, there are no actual sex scenes, but there are direct references to sex, etc. 
> 
> Some aftermath of violence as well
> 
> ****  
> Fun Fact: Earl was named after the Chick's song "Goodbye Earl"
> 
> All feedback is much appreciated and all commenters are much loved!  
> ~Aye of Newt


	15. Hargreeves' Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hargreeves' Law: the principle that, when a Hargreeves is involved, anything that can go wrong, will go horribly, spectacularly, terrifyingly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW at the end*

  
  


Klaus’ stash had outgrown being stuffed in his shoe after a week or two, besides which it was a major risk to keep the evidence of his betrayal on his person. Realizing he needed a better plan, Klaus had spent several nervous days searching for a hiding place in the house. He didn’t exactly have his own room, and while few people bothered with the kitchen other than Klaus, he didn’t want to gamble on Earl’s friends’ laziness and leave his escape route and the evidence of his crime in the pantry. Finally, on a day when Earl was actually out of the house for a few hours— some sort of “business meeting” that Klaus didn’t care to ask too many questions about— he had the opportunity to search for an actual place to stash it rather than under the mattress. 

After fifteen minutes of crawling around and trying to pry up floorboards, which was surprisingly difficult considering the state of the house, Klaus gave up on the old standby of hiding places and started looking for other options. The underside of a drawer was too risky and not spacious enough for the stacks of small bills, and anything to do with the bed was too likely to be found. Klaus was poking at the flooring of the closet to see if he would have any better luck there when he happened to look up. 

Nearly blocked by an old cardboard box that a blender had come in, there was a vent near the ceiling, dusty and grime-covered from lack of attention, not that many things in the house were clean. It was an illogical placement, but the building was well over a hundred years old and had been gutted and remodeled so many times that it figured there would be some odd anomalies with the layout. 

Klaus found a chair and butterknife and brought them back to the closet. Carefully balancing on the chair while trying to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps from the others in the house, or worse, Earl returning home, Klaus began to carefully unscrew the vent with his blade. It was difficult at first, the screws being stuck in their state of disuse, but after a few minutes of struggling, a jammed finger, and several muttered curse words later, the vent came away from the wall. Klaus just managed to catch it before it clattered to the floor. He stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding, before he carefully set the vent down and inspected his hiding place.

It was disgustingly dirty but otherwise perfect. Quickly, Klaus retrieved his cash and dumped out the pair of shoes Earl had bought him from their container. He placed the money in the box and tucked it into the vent, pushing it as far back as he could. His hands were shaking as he put the grate back in place, all too aware of how limited his time was. When it was finally screwed down, Klaus quickly pushed the junk on the shelf back in place, hiding the vent from view. Getting off the chair, he considered the hiding place from every angle of the room but was unable to see any hint of the air duct. Satisfied for the moment but his heart still rushing from adrenaline, Klaus had just finished putting everything away when Earl came home. 

For a few minutes, he was sure that Earl would know immediately that something was wrong. Klaus could barely look at him, and he knew his hands were shaking. But Earl’s meeting had apparently gone well and he was in as cheerful a mood as he was capable of. By some miracle, he was happy enough, or self-absorbed enough, to not notice that Klaus was barely paying attention while he gave Earl what he wanted, his eyes tracking towards the closet every few minutes. 

After a few days went by and there was no mention of the cash in the closet or any indication that Earl suspected foul pay amongst his sellers, Klaus began to relax. 

Maybe, just once, he’d get away with it. 

***

Klaus turned twenty-two on the floor of Earl’s bathroom, holding a needle between half-numb fingers. The heat was out for the time being and the nights had too quickly grown colder, not that the crop top and cutoffs Klaus was wearing did much to keep him warm. Earl had wanted to go out, and Klaus had agreed because Klaus always agreed with Earl.

He had not mentioned his birthday. Despite the historic correlation between Klaus’ birthday and unpleasant memories, there was a childish part of him that still wanted the day to be special, and it was one of the only things that he had the power to keep to himself- one of the few things that Earl could not touch. 

That did not necessarily mean that it was a happy nor easy day, however, and despite the clock having just turned past midnight to October first, Klaus needed to “pregame”, as Earl called it, in order for it to look like he was having fun at the clubs that night. Earl liked it when Klaus had fun and made his effort appreciated, both in abstaining from hurting him and being more generous with the doses he allowed Klaus. 

The rest of the night was a blur that even Ben couldn’t seem to break through, Klaus too far gone into oblivion. 

  
  
  


When Klaus woke at nearly two in the afternoon later that day, he was thoroughly wrung out, though clinging to a lingering high that made Ben’s figure flicker in and out where he stood disapproving and angry in the corner. Klaus pretended he couldn’t make out Ben’s words as he fumbled for the kit in the bedside table and shot up again, sinking back into the pillows as the relief began to wash over him. 

“Happy Birthday, Ben.”

“Klaus—” 

“Do you think we could just… save the lecture for tomorrow?” Klaus asked quietly. “As a present?”

Ben gave him one last glare of frustration before deflating. “Okay, fine. But tomorrow I’m going to rag your ass about this for an hour.”

“Looking forward to it,” Klaus muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“You hungry?” Ben asked, watching the way Klaus’ collar bone protruded from his skin as he lifted his arm. 

“Eh.”

Ben’s lips tightened. “Come on, get up. We’re getting a birthday breakfast.”

Klaus squinted at him and then the clock. “Ben, it’s two fifteen.”

“So? You haven’t eaten yet today, so that makes it breakfast. Besides, there are plenty of all-day breakfast spots.”

Klaus looked at him appraisingly, raising his eyebrows. “You’re being unusually fun today.”

Ben shrugged. “It’s our birthday.”

Klaus watched him for a beat longer before sighing. “Fine, you win. Let’s go.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and nearly fainted as he stood, the blood rushing to his head. Ben tried to steady him but his hands passed through uselessly. 

“Klaus, are you ok?”

He took a moment to compose himself before answering. “Yeah, I’m good. Just got up too fast. Maybe you were right about eating something, Benny. I think my blood sugars’ a little low.”

“Jeeze, something must be wrong if you’re admitting I’m right,” Ben joked, watching Klaus closely as he stood again. “You sure you’re okay?”

Klaus laughed. “Really, Ben. I’m good. Let’s go get waffles.” 

Earl was gone for the day which made leaving easier, though he had eased up on letting Klaus out of the house “unsupervised”. After nine months, he was confident in Klaus’ dependency on him and knew that he would always come back at the end of the day for a place to sleep and his next hit. He’d even begun a bit of an allowance, as he called it, that Klaus was permitted to do what he wanted with. Sometimes, Klaus thought that Earl enjoyed playing house with him as if they were in a real relationship. Of course, it mirrored more of a nineteen-twenties nightmare situation than anything Klaus had dreamed about as a child, but there was no point in arguing that position with Earl. 

It was a surprisingly nice day for October, still chilly, but sunny and bright. When Klaus reached the diner he liked best, he took a booth by the window and ordered two cups of coffee.

“Is someone joining you?” the waitress asked, returning with two menus in her hand. 

“Um, yes,” Klaus told her, smiling. Ben had never said anything about it, but Klaus knew he appreciated the gestures Klaus made to signify that Ben was still there. The waitress left the extra place setting and menu and was starting to turn away when Klaus told her, “I know what I want already— the double stack of waffles with a side of berries please.” 

“Oh,” the waitress, Jenny, according to her nametag, looked surprised. “You don’t want to wait for your companion?”

“Naw, he wouldn’t mind,” Klaus grinned again, wider in attempts to drive off her curiosity, handing his menu back. 

Jenny smiled back and left to put his order in. While he waited, Klaus wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, letting the warmth leak into his stiff fingers as he watched people walk by outside. 

When his waffles were brought to him, Jenny looked at the still-empty seat across from Klaus with some concern. 

“He’s just running behind,” Klaus assured her. Without waiting for her to respond, he turned to his plate and began drenching his waffles with syrup. 

Jenny came back a few times while he ate to fill his cup and ask if he needed anything, with an ever increasingly sympathetic expression on her face. When Klaus finally finished eating and asked for the bill, he could clearly see the way she looked at Ben’s apparently vacant seat and cold cup of coffee with absolute pity. When she came back to the table it was with a small paper bag and no bill. Placing the package on the table, she patted Klaus’ arm softly. “It’s on us today, honey,” she told him gently. 

Klaus glanced down at what he was wearing. For him, it was absolutely boring, black jeans and an old band t-shirt he’d stolen from a thrift shop. His jacket and boots were both in decent shape, although not new either. “I can pay,” he told her slowly, not sure whether to feel insulted or not. He had taken advantage of others’ generosity before, in times of desperation, but he didn’t actually need the free meal that day, as much as he valued each dollar towards his escape fund. 

“Oh!” Jenny blushed, her eyes going wide, “I didn’t mean to imply—! No! We just… noticed that your… date didn’t… well, didn’t make it. We wanted to treat you. You know, to … make up for him being rude.” Her face was bright red as she avoided eye-contact. 

_They thought I got stood up,_ Klaus understood and looked across the table to Ben who was grinning widely. “Take it,” he told Klaus.

“Really?” Klaus was surprised that Ben would advocate taking advantage, but Jenny responded instead. 

“Yes, really. It’s a bit of a policy here. And so is the doughnut. Also on the house, of course.” She gestured to the bag on the table and Klaus glanced at Ben again, who was laughing at that point. 

“Okay, thank you, Jenny. It really means a lot.” Klaus looked at her very solemnly, blinking rapidly to make his eyes a little watery. 

“Oh, yes. Of course!” Jenny looked even more pityingly at him. “You’re so sweet, you poor thing. Are you sure there isn’t anything else we could do for you?”

For a moment Klaus was tempted to ask for a second doughnut but thought better of it. He didn’t want to push his luck, and really, he did feel a little bit bad for how sad Jenny looked. “No, thank you. This is enough, really. I can’t thank you enough.” He stood quickly, plucking the bag up and placing it carefully in his large coat pocket. “You’ve been a real gem.” With a quick hug that left Jenny surprised enough to stop talking for a moment, Klaus swept out of the diner and down the street. He managed to turn the corner before bursting into laughter, startling the others on the street to steer around him with looks of judgment and mild concern. 

Doubled over, Klaus could hear Ben losing it next to him. When the laughter finally died down, Klaus wiped his streaming eyes and said to Ben, “We need to pull that shit more often. Although I’m surprised you went for it.”

Ben shrugged, grinning. “Think of it as a really great birthday discount.” 

Klaus laughed again, smiling back. “Touche.” 

They started down the street again, people still avoiding Klaus— the apparent maniac who laughed wildly at nothing and talked to himself. 

“Now what?” Ben asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You still have cash.”

Klaus hummed consideringly, trying to think of something that he wanted. He could go to a thrift shop to see if there was anything cute there. Rounding another corner, the marquee for a movie theater came into view, advertising _The Double Switch_. Drawing closer, Klaus caught a glimpse of Allison, smiling secretively from a poster that bore the same name, a finger held up to her lips in the “shh” symbol as she winked. He stared at her for a minute, thinking about how strange the woman on the poster looked— like someone had drawn his sister from his description of her, close but not quite exactly right. 

She was older than the last time he’d seen her, yes, and the airbrush had wiped away her tiny flaws, like the small scar that Klaus knew marked the corner of her nose from where she’d gotten a piercing that Reginald had forced her to take out, leading to much bleeding and tears. But there was something else too. Maybe it was that she looked happy. 

“You wanna see a movie?” he asked Ben softly. 

“Sure.” 

Klaus thought about buying two tickets to ensure that Ben would have a seat, but it was a matinee and the place was dead so he sprung for popcorn instead.

The theater was almost empty and Klaus and Ben took a place in the very back row, just under the projection window. As the movie started, Klaus remembered the doughnut still in his pocket and pulled it out. By some strange coincidence or cruel joke by the universe, it was a Boston cream. Klaus left out a soft wet laugh and showed it to Ben. 

“To Five,” Ben whispered quietly, looking down at the doughnut.

“To Five,” Klaus echoed and pulled off a segment of pastry. It was so sweet and bitter he felt like he might choke. 

***

In the end, it took four months for Earl to first suspect that someone was price gouging him. 

It was the slam of the door that first warned Klaus that Earl was angry— though to be honest, that was hardly a rarity. All the same, the sound made Klaus jump, sending the spoon that was resting on the edge of the counter clattering to the floor. Earl stormed into the kitchen a moment later and Klaus was left frozen over the stove where dinner bubbled gently. 

“Someone is upselling my stuff.”

Klaus’ heart stopped and he struggled to keep his face from showing his fear. “What?” he asked, his voice strangled. 

“One of those fucking bastards is marking up my merchandise to turn a profit.”

That sounded like he didn’t suspect Klaus, but he had to be careful all the same. “Who?” he ventured cautiously.

“I don’t fucking know, Klaus! One of the slimy fucking bastards who is supposed to be working for me!”

Klaus felt like he could breathe again and he took a moment to compose himself, pretending that he was just picking up the spoon off the floor. “What are you going to do?” he asked carefully, not looking at Earl.

“I’m going to find out who it is, and then I am going to make him pay.”

There was a darkness in Earl’s voice that sometimes broke through when he was particularly angry. Klaus had only heard it a handful of times, and never directed fully at him. All the same, the times he had glimpsed that rage in its aftershocks which had left him more than a little bruised and often bleeding. 

“I hope you do,” he whispered, clutching the spatula he held so tightly his knuckles went white. 

The time to make his break for it was closer than he thought.

“You better fucking believe I will,” Earl snarled, stalking across to sweep Klaus up and pin him against the counter. “I’ll show you what kind of a man I am,” he breathed, gripping Klaus’ arms in bruising hands as he began to kiss his neck. “I’ve had a stressful day, Birdie. Think you can help me blow off some steam?”

Klaus nodded tightly and turned off the stove burner before letting Earl take him upstairs. 

After Earl was finished with him, he allowed Klaus to shoot up, an opportunity he took with more relief than usual. Sitting alone on the crumpled bedsheets wearing one of Earl’s old t-shirts, Klaus waited for Ben as his heart rate slowed down and his shaking stopped. 

“Klaus.” Ben appeared at the end of the bed, looking both annoyed and worried.

“Hey, Benny.”

“I knew that this was a stupid idea, I told you—”

“I know you did." Klaus flopped backward and looked up at the ceiling instead of Ben’s face.

Ben paused for a moment. “So are you admitting I was right?” He sounded surprised though with just a tiny note of smugness.

“No.”

Klaus could practically hear Ben rolling his eyes. 

He continued, “ _No,_ because I have nearly enough cash to get out of here and where would I have been if I just left?”

“Safe—”

“Oh please, Benny. You know that that isn’t true.”

Ben sighed. “In a way, yes.”

Klaus smirked, finally looking at Ben. “So in a way, you’re saying that _I_ was right?”

“No, _you’re_ an idiot,” Ben frowned severely at Klaus, but his eyes were laughing and Klaus grinned at him. Finally, Ben’s expression cracked and he smiled too. 

“Come on,” Klaus sighed, adjusting himself on the bed. “We need to figure out the plan from here.” 

***

Klaus didn’t tamper with any of his sales for the next two weeks, the faded purple and yellow marks that ran in swirls across this hips serving as reminders of Earl’s anger— not that the man himself didn’t make mention of finding “that dirty fucking rat” almost every day. Now that Earl knew someone had been messing with his product, he’d be watching every transaction looking for the traitor to make a mistake. He didn’t spend a lot of time on the street himself, but he had his sources and Klaus knew that Earl was going through every regular he knew of to try and find the rat. 

Thankfully, Klaus wasn’t as stupid as Reginald seemed to believe he was. He hadn’t dared to sell marked-up products to anyone who knew enough to compare prices and especially to those experienced with Earl. No, Klaus’ targets were mostly rich kids with too much money and not enough brains who were looking for something to party with. 

The plan had actually been rather brilliant if you asked Klaus, and despite the very small percentage he’d been taking, the cash had piled up quickly. He had nearly enough saved to afford the first and last month’s rent on an apartment— not a very nice apartment, granted, but an apartment nonetheless. Of course, keeping the apartment would be a challenge after that point, but Klaus was fairly confident that he’d be able to pull enough business to keep himself off the street, though ironically, he planned to do so by working them. As his savings stood at the moment, Klaus could have most likely made the down payment, but he’d hoped to have at least a little bit of a buffer for utilities or food. All the same, with Earl’s vendetta, it seemed smarter to just get out as fast as possible. 

He and Ben had agreed that it would be best to make his escape in a window that gave him the maximum amount of time between leaving and Earl noticing. Every month or so, Earl would take an overnight trip to meet up with some suppliers in Jersey, which meant he would be gone for at least twenty-four hours. Klaus planned to wait until Earl left to make his escape, now just weeks away. 

With the end in sight, Klaus felt both relieved and more nervous than he’d ever felt planning it. Now was the time it would either work or go terribly wrong, and, as Earl’s meeting crept closer and Klaus still hadn’t found a place to stay, the anxiety got worse. He wasn’t allotted much free time between selling and keeping Earl happy, but after Klaus managed to make a particularly large sale, Earl had decided to reward him with a bit of cash and the instructions to “go out and buy himself something pretty.” 

Taking the chance, Klaus hopped the subway to the other side of the borough. After his run-in with Reginald a few years ago, Klaus had wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the Academy. Now, he had the more pressing threat of Earl to worry about and wanted to do the same to him. Heading back in the direction of the old neighborhood felt dangerous, but there were likely still people he knew there, making it easier for Klaus to fall back into the scene. Besides which, enough time had passed that Reginald had probably concluded that Klaus was no longer in the area and so would not expect him to come back. 

As un-picky as Klaus was at that point, it still took a couple of hours to find a place that was livable and affordable. The studio that Klaus finally decided to take was approximately the size of his old bedroom at the academy with a bathroom so small that Klaus was pretty sure his knees would hit the wall if he sat on the toilet. But the window had an unbroken pane of glass and the door had a deadbolt. It was shabby, but Klaus didn’t actually see any infestations while he was there and that was enough for him to ask if the place could be held without an upfront payment right then.

“No cash, no hold,” the landlord told him gruffly, crossing his arms. 

Klaus dug his nails into his hand worryingly. It had been too risky to take the money with him, for fear of discovery by Earl or the danger of being mugged. “I told you, I can have the first and last months in a week. I just need a couple days and I—” 

“You can pay now or leave.”

Klaus shifted anxiously. This apartment was the best he’d looked at and he didn’t have time to find another. He hesitated, but forced himself to offer the only thing he had that anyone had ever found use in.“Is there anything else you accept as a temporary down payment?” he asked, dipping his head to look up at the man through long eyelashes. 

The landlord looked at him appraisingly for a minute before he laughed. “Ha, sure pretty boy, let’s see what you can offer me.”

Klaus left with bruised knees and a sour taste in his mouth, but with the promise of an apartment to go to when he finally ran for it. Stopping in an adult store on his way back to Earl’s house, Klaus hoped the pretty thing he’d picked out would satisfy Earl enough that he wouldn’t ask too many questions about how long it had taken Klaus to find. 

***

“Klaus?” Ben asked, hovering awkwardly by the edge of the bed.

Klaus cracked an eye open and groaned, shifting so that he lay on his side. Bringing his legs up to his chest, he watched Ben from half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?” he muttered, his voice rasping.

“You okay?”

Klaus smirked bitterly and Ben sighed. He looked away for a moment before coming to lie down next to Klaus on the bed, facing him and curling up in a mirrored image of his brother, Ben on top of the sheets and Klaus underneath. They lay in silence, Ben tracking each breath that Klaus took. He wished he could pull the blankets up further around him. Klaus looked cold. 

Finally, Ben spoke again, “Klaus?”

His eyes flickered up from where he'd been gazing into space. Despite knowing that Ben was technically the same age as him, Klaus felt a wave of guilt at the way his baby face wrinkled with worry. He shut his eyes so he didn't have to look at it. “Yeah, Benny?” 

“I’m proud of you.”

Klaus cracked his eyelids again to stare at Ben in confusion. “What?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re actually going to leave Earl and make a place for yourself. I don’t love how you’re doing it, to be honest, but… I’m just glad you’re getting out of here.”

Klaus looked at Ben searchingly for a moment before saying softly, “Thanks, Ben.” He reached out and placed his hand just next to Ben’s on the bed. 

***

Klaus had three days left before Earl’s trip and his escape when everything came crashing down. 

He, at Earl’s request, had been out picking up dates to help make up for the cash that had been “stolen” from Earl. It was dark when he got back to the house, being nearly three in the morning. Up until that point, the night had been going fairly well for Klaus, at least in terms of business. As he entered the house, Klaus was calmed by the thick wad of cash he carried, sure that it would appease Earl’s ever-rising tensions. 

“Earl?” he called as he wound through the hall towards the kitchen. “I’m back!" he sang in the syrupy sweet voice he often adapted when easing Earl's anger. "And you’re going to be _so_ happy when you see—”

Earl was sitting at the kitchen table, Klaus’ escape money sitting in neat piles in front of him. He would have known what it was immediately, even if the shoe box hadn’t been sitting there alongside the cash. The look on Earl’s face would have been enough. Klaus felt his stomach drop and absolute ice washed over him. 

“Hello, Birdie.” Earl’s voice was low and perfectly controlled in cold anger that Klaus had never seen so starkly before. 

“What, what is all of that?” Klaus tried, trying desperately for the one out he had— absolute denial. 

“Do not play dumb with me, Klaus” Earl snapped, slamming his hand on the table. 

Klaus flinched. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Earl… I’m sorry. I—”

Earl was across the room in an instant, his hands wrapping around Klaus’ neck as he slammed him into the wall. “You little. Fucking. _Cunt._ ” Earl’s hands tightened as he punctuated each word by thumping Klaus backward, his shoulders stinging with pain at each impact. It was starting to get hard to breathe and Klaus clawed at Earl’s hands, trying to free himself, his eyes wide in fear. 

“Please—” he gasped in a strangled rasp.

Earl screamed as he slammed Klaus against the wall one last time, hard enough that Klaus felt his head bounce before he was let go of and slid to the floor. 

Coughing, Klaus tried to catch his breath to explain himself in any way to Earl. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” he pleaded before he was cut off by a boot making contact with his stomach. The air was quite literally knocked out of him and Klaus was left gasping as Earl’s fist came to grip his hair. He began to drag Klaus out of the room as he scrambled to get his feet under him, reaching up to grab Earl’s fingers, attempting to free himself. 

“You little bitch. You fucking stupid _whore_. I am going to motherfucking kill you.” Earl didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. The rage was present in his voice and Klaus didn’t doubt that Earl meant every word. 

Terror ran through his veins and Klaus began fighting harder. Absolute panic left him stricken, and blindly he screamed, “Ben!” But he was horribly sober, and even if he wasn’t, there was nothing Ben could do to stop what was happening. 

“No one is going to fucking help you, you little traitor,” Earl snarled, grunting as he attempted to pull Klaus further.

The pain from his hair being pulled made Klaus’ eyes water but he thrashed harder, attempting to escape as he dug his heels into the floor. Earl was making for the stairs and something inside Klaus knew that he couldn’t let Earl take him up to their room. But Earl was so much stronger than him—

It was then that, inexplicably, Diego’s voice rang through his head. _Get a hold of him and use his weight against him. You’re almost the same height, use that. Straighten up._

Klaus forced himself to stand as much as he could, using Earl’s attempts to drag him forward to his advantage, the man wasn’t expecting him to suddenly go in the direction Earl wanted him to. 

_Put your arm up,_ Diego told him. Klaus shot his inside arm up near Earl’s wrist that was gripping his hair.

 _Wrap it around his elbow,_ Diego ordered and Klaus did, pushing his arm back and around, clasping his hands together in front of him. _Pull up!_ Diego ordered as Klaus jerked his arms up. His head was yanked back further as Earl managed to keep his grip.

“You fucking—”

_Throat, Klaus!_

Klaus brought his outside hand up to slam into Earl’s throat so quickly he didn’t have time to react.

_Knee!_

Klaus took his outside leg and twisted so that he hooked it around the back of Earl’s knee and pulled. The man crumpled to the floor and Klaus took off down the hallway in a break for the door. 

He had nearly reached it when Earl caught him by the back of the jacket and slammed him down to the ground, placing a few brutal kicks to his side and getting on top of Klaus before he had the chance to recover. He began to beat Klaus, finally screaming, although Klaus couldn’t make out the words over the rushing in his ears. His left arm was pinned under Earl’s leg and he tried to bring his right up to shield his face but Earl pushed it away with ease. He felt something give and his vision went spotty as something hot and wet and sticky began flowing down his temples and cheek. 

_Trapped_ , he thought as the world began to go fuzzy. _He’s going to fucking kill me within three feet of the fucking door._

_Legs, goddamn it! Use your legs, Klaus!_ Diego’s voice was back and suddenly Klaus was pinned under Luther in the sparring ring at the academy, Number Two once again shouting instructions from the sidelines. He wedged his right foot under Earl’s and bucked his hips up and to the side, turning them both over. His head swam at the sudden reversal of positions and his vision turned spotty, almost toppling him over again. Through the red obscuring his vision, Klaus could barely make out Earl’s face so he slammed his elbow down into Earl’s pelvis. “That’s what I think of your fucking dick,” he ground out, spitting blood. 

Any grip that Earl had on him was gone and Klaus made one last break for the door, almost falling over Earl’s balled up form as he did. Wrenching the door open, Klaus stumbled down the stairs as fast as he could, half-blind from the blood trailing down his face, but running as fast as he could towards freedom. 

  
  


He was pretty sure people were staring as he ran down the street, but Klaus couldn’t care. All he wanted to do was get as far away as possible. Through narrow alleyways and dimly light corridors, he kept going until his legs all but gave out on him. Collapsing on the sidewalk, Klaus breathed in ragged gasps, clutching his splitting slides as his lungs burned. 

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Everything that applied in the last chapter in regards to Earl (cohesive and abusive relationship etc, etc). Sex used as a bargaining chip, mostly to avoid harm. 
> 
> TW: Physical violence. Honestly, it is less graphic than the show, so hopefully it isn't too much for anyone. However, what I personally think is almost more upsetting is the use of some very vulgar and degrading words that are directed at Klaus during this encounter, though there are no slurs. 
> 
> ***  
> Fuck Earl. He's terrible and I'm sorry.
> 
> And hey! New experience for me! I have never written a fight scene like this before, so I hope it was easy to understand what was happening but still engaging and it like flows or whatever...
> 
> Also... I love everyone who leaves a comment... just saying... 
> 
> ;)
> 
> [~Aye of Newt](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/)


	16. Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus finally makes one (1) good decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> Hey. I had a bad day because my roommate was mean.... but she's moving out in two weeks so it will be ok lol. Anyway, I decided to ~ease the pain~ by uploading a few hours early. 
> 
> Now, brace yourselves, because I'm about to tell you something quite shocking...
> 
> this chapter...
> 
> contains....
> 
> COMFORT.
> 
> *gasp* I know.
> 
> I need it. You need it. KLAUS needs it. So finally, we get a little break. 
> 
> Huh...this chapter ended up falling at the perfect time for me. Weird....
> 
> Anyway, I do sincerely hope that you enjoy <3

Eventually, Klaus picked himself up from where he had collapsed and began working on figuring out where he was. When he had run, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going, tunnel vision fixed on just getting as far away as possible. Now without the threat of danger behind him, he was exhausted and lost.

“Ben?” he whispered. Klaus was barely able to see beyond his rapidly swelling eye and the blood that crusted over his face but he squinted around him. Finally, he was able to make out a faint trail of shadow that curled around his wrist. “I really hope that that’s you,” he told it. With that tiny bit of comfort, he pushed himself up slowly, his legs wobbling.

Klaus limped down the street, his knee skinned and bruised from his fall and his back and head aching from Earl’s attack. His feet were blistering from his high-heeled shoes and Klaus considered taking them off but figured it would be a bad idea to expose the open wounds to the filth of the sidewalk. He wandered in a staggering, weaving walk for two blocks. No one stopped to help him but he was not harassed either, most people taking one glance at him and then turning their heads quickly away. 

Ahead, Klaus finally spotted a subway entrance and his pace quickened even as new waves of pain ran down his legs. He quickly patted down his jacket, searching for his MetroCard, panic shooting through him as he couldn’t find it. Klaus stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and began desperately rifling through his pockets, finding nothing but lipstick and three condoms. For the first time that night, Klaus began to cry. He was stuck on Earl’s side of the city, with not a single cent or even a bus pass to get to the apartment that he surely wouldn’t be able to afford now. 

“Hey? Are you okay?” A hand brushed against Klaus’ shoulder.

Klaus jerked, whirling around as he jerked away from the person, one arm already coming up to shield his face. 

“Woah! Hey! I’m not going to hurt you!” The woman stared at Klaus, her eyes wide. She held her hands up, palms spread wide to show she meant no harm. She was clad in a tight sparkly dress and high heels, her hair in small natural curls. “My name is Clara, I just want to help you.”

Slowly, Klaus lowered his arm. “Sorry,” he rasped out, his throat burning from the bruises that were undoubtedly left from Earl’s attack. 

Her forehead wrinkled in concern as she slowly lowered her arms too. “It’s okay,” she told him in a gentle and calm tone. “I just want to help. Are you okay? Can you tell me your name?”

Something about her voice, so kind and soft, made him crumple. “I’m Klaus,” he whispered. “And I’m not okay.” 

“Can I help you, Klaus?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward. 

“I just need to get a train.” Klaus knew he needed a lot more than that, but he could hardly ask her for a place to live. 

“You look like you need an emergency room,” Clara insisted, lifting her hand towards the cuts on his face. 

Klaus flinched back again and she stopped, quickly pulling her arm back. “No!” he insisted, a little too forcefully. 

Clara stared at him. 

“No,” Klaus said, softer. “I… can’t afford it.” 

She frowned sympathetically. “Can⏤ can I ask what happened?” she asked carefully. 

Klaus paused. “Mugged,” he murmured finally, looking down. It was an easier story.

She nodded slowly and then paused again, still looking at him consideringly. “It wasn’t a trick?” Clara asked kindly, in the small careful voice like he was a fragile bird she was trying to calm. 

Klaus’ head jerked up in surprise. 

Clara smiled dryly at him. “I would know.” 

Klaus glanced up and down her outfit again, noticing how cheap the material of her dress was, how out of place the “fancy” clothes seemed in the run-down neighborhood. 

“Oh,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Was it a trick?” she asked again, more instantly. 

Klaus slowly shook his head. “No.”

She started to speak again but he cut her off. “It happened after I got back for the night. He… found out I was planning to leave. Found the cash I’d hid.” It was enough information for her to fill in the blanks and come to a semi-correct conclusion without telling the exact truth. 

Clara’s face pinched in grief. “I’m so sorry, honey.” 

He shrugged. 

“Is he going to be coming after you?”

Klaus hesitated. “If I hadn’t gotten out of there, he would have killed me.” 

She nodded, glancing around them. “Do you have anywhere you could go?”

He almost said _no,_ but a little voice that sounded a lot like Ben protested in the back of his mind. Klaus thought of the scrap of paper that Diego had pressed into his hand, wondering if he had meant what he had said. Wondered if he showed up, Diego would welcome him in. If when Klaus explained what happened, Diego’s face would turn sour with disgust. He thought of the apartment he now had no chance of getting and how long it would take him to save up any kind of money again. 

Against his better judgment, he answered, “I have a brother.” 

Clara nodded, switching into action mode. “Okay, where does he live?”

The address tumbled from Klaus’ lips without him having to think of it, pressed into his memory from the hours he had spent running his thumb over the familiar chicken-scratch writing until the ink was too faded to read anymore. 

“We’re going to get you there,” Clara told him firmly. She extended her hand to him, waiting patiently for Klaus to accept it. “We’re going to take the train okay? I have enough on my card for both of us.” 

“Are you s⏤?”

“Yes.” Clara gave him a firm look as she led him down the stairs to the station. “I always have enough to help a comrade in need. Fuck that guy who did this to you.” 

Klaus laughed for the first time that night. “I mean, if you’re being literal, I already did.”

Clara raised an eyebrow at him.

“I use humor to cope with trauma.” 

Clara’s other eyebrow went up.

“What? I read.” Technically Ben read and Klaus turned the pages for him. Occasionally, he would follow along out of boredom, which Ben liked to take advantage of. Klaus had long since refused to help Ben with any books about addiction. 

Clara’s lips twitched with an unwilling smile.

Klaus continued in biting sarcasm, “Well, actually, I guess if we’re being really literal, it did tend to be the other way around⏤”

The amusement dropped from Clara’s face as she seemed to remember the seriousness of the situation. _“The swine_.” She spat aggressively on the path. “You’re never going back there.” Clara didn’t leave any room for argument in her statement as she steered him down the steps towards the train.

The bright light of the subway cast Klaus’ injuries in sharp relief and Clara hissed in sympathy at the sight of them. “Will your brother be able to take you to a doctor?” she asked, gently tilting his head to the side as she inspected the split skin over his cheekbone. 

“He’ll have a first aid kit,” Klaus answered. 

She looked skeptical. 

“Diego knows what he’s doing,” Klaus insisted. “Lots of practice when we were kids.” 

Her lips flattened into a thin line as a shadow of understanding passed over her face. 

Klaus tried to smile to show that he was doing fine but it pulled his injuries painfully and turned into a grimace. 

Thankfully, the train was all but empty at the early hour and they were left alone, Klaus leaning against Clara’s shoulder as they traveled further and further away from Earl and his shitty house. 

They emerged from the underground almost an hour from sunrise, both lagging tiredly as they wound through the neighborhood, finally coming to a small apartment building. It was plain but looked clean and safe. They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking up at it for a moment. 

“This is it,” Klaus finally murmured. 

“Mmm.” 

Klaus stared straight ahead as he spoke, “Look, Clara, thank you, really, I⏤” 

“No need,” she insisted softly, also looking ahead. “As I said, I always have the time to help a comrade in arms.” 

They reached between them and squeezed each other’s hands one more time. 

“I’ll stay until you get in,” she told him as he let go.

“Okay.” 

Klaus limped forward, his trembling fingers trailing over the buzzers, praying that Diego would still be there, that he hadn’t moved away again without leaving a forwarding address. 

He needn’t have worried. There in neat lettering next to 5A, read _Hargreeves, D._ Klaus pressed the button and waited. The silence seemed to stretch forever as he leaned against the side of the doorframe, exhaustion, and pain making it hard to hold himself up anymore. Finally, he decided that Diego hadn’t heard and he pressed the buzzer again in three short bursts. 

Silence again. Just as Klaus was getting ready to try one more time, the speaker crackled to life. “Who the fuck are you and what the hell do you want at fucking…” there was the muffled sound of moving around in the background of the intercom, “ten to five in the morning?”

“Hey,” was all Klaus could think to say. 

“What?” Diego’s voice came through with a fair amount of static. 

“It’s me,” Klaus continued. “Klaus.”

The pause almost made him run from the stoop before, “Holy shit. Come in.” The door buzzed and Klaus quickly reached for the handle. He glanced back over his shoulder to Clara. She smiled and raised a hand in goodbye. 

Klaus mirrored her, his parting spelled out on the palm. 

They nodded to each other and she turned, starting back on her journey home. 

Klaus slipped inside the building.

Neither of them looked back. 

***

Klaus stared up the winding staircase and thought about giving up right there. Every bone in his body ached, the rush of adrenaline long since faded and the twenty or so hours that he had been awake quickly catching up to him. It was only the eighteen years of endurance training and the promise of being able to lay down somewhere safe that allowed Klaus the ability to grit his teeth and start up the five flights to Diego’s apartment. He gripped the handrail tightly, leaning heavily against it as he made his way painfully slowly up the first set of stairs, pausing on the landing to catch his breath for a moment, sagging against the wall. Above him, he could hear feet hurrying down the steps and Klaus cracked open the one good eye he currently had just in time to see Diego turn the last corner above him. 

Finally able to see Klaus, Diego froze. He blinked slowly like it might correct his vision as his mouth opened slightly in shock. 

Klaus tried to straighten up to look less pathetic but winced at the motion. “Hey,” he forced himself to say in a fake casual tone. 

“What happened?” Diego recovered from his stupor and rushed the rest of the way down the stairs. He hesitated before carefully reaching out to inspect the worst of the wounds on Klaus’ face. 

“Long story,” he muttered, looking away. 

Diego’s lips twisted in a frown but he didn’t press the matter, simply wrapping Klaus’ arm around his shoulders to help him up the stairs.

Klaus couldn’t help but let out a small whimper as pain rippled through his side and Diego froze. 

“What?”

“Ribs,” Klaus gasped, bracing his whole body against the pain. 

“Fuck,” Diego hissed. He gingerly stepped back out of his space, letting go of Klaus who immediately grabbed his side. Diego allowed him a few moments for the pain to subside before he stated, “Okay, so I’m just going to have to carry you.”

“What?” Klaus was suddenly much more awake. “No, you’re not.” 

“How else are you going to get up the stairs, Klaus? Walk?”

Klaus thought of how slow and painful the first thirteen steps had been and frowned, weighing if the embarrassment was worth it. 

Diego raised his eyebrows. 

“Can you even carry me up that many steps?” Klaus tried in one last half-protest. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can.” Diego eyed Klaus’ tiny frame. 

Klaus was too tired to argue it anymore. “Fine.” 

“Okay.” Diego switched to Klaus’ other side. “Can you wrap this arm around my shoulders?”

Carefully, Klaus gave it a try. It hurt less than the other side and he nodded. 

“Okay, good. I’m going to pick you up under the knees in three, two⏤”

Klaus was swept up easily by Diego without having to do anything to help. The motion pulled at his injuries and Klaus flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as the pain washed over him. 

“You okay?” Diego asked, holding very still. 

“Fine,” Klaus managed as the throbbing subsided. 

“Let me know if you need a break,” Diego told him, slowly starting up towards his apartment, Klaus cradled a little awkwardly in his arms, his long limbs dangling. “Christ, you’re light,” he said under his breath as they rounded on the third floor. 

“Thanks,” Klaus joked weakly.

“Not a compliment,” Diego snapped. “You feel _sharp.”_

“Sorry.”

Diego sighed. “Not what I meant.”

Klaus glanced up at him. Diego’s face was doing that thing where he was worried and sad, his eyebrows low and his jaw tight. It was very similar to when he was angry but with less fire in his eyes. 

Guilt stirred uncomfortably in Klaus’ stomach. 

When they finally reached the fifth floor, Diego nudged the door to his apartment open with his foot, carefully sliding through the frame sideways so he wouldn’t bang Klaus’ head. 

“You should really lock your door,” Klaus joked.

“I think I can handle myself.”

“If someone was in your apartment right now you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself if they jumped out at you. Unless you dropped me pretty quickly of course.”

“Klaus,” Diego already sounded exasperated. “No one broke into my five-story walk-up apartment in the five minutes I was downstairs.”

“But they could have.”

“Sure. But they didn’t.”

“Didn’t Daddy teach us to always be prepared for a hostile situation?”

Diego rolled his eyes as he carefully set Klaus down on the couch. “Let’s not talk about him.”

Klaus agreed to that easily. Reginald wasn’t his favorite topic. 

“Wait here,” Diego instructed, already moving out of the room. Klaus didn’t have the energy to even joke about not being able to do anything else. He slumped back against the armrest, the soft cushions sagging comfortably. Klaus allowed his eyes to drift shut.

“Hey!”

Klaus jerked.

“Don’t fall asleep. You could have a concussion.” 

Klaus groaned but moved to sit up. “I’m tired,” he whined. 

“I know,” Diego allowed more gently, helping him to get positioned on the edge of the couch. “But I need to fix you up first.” 

Diego placed his impressively large first aid kit on the coffee table and sat down facing Klaus. He flicked through its contents, pulling out bandages and disinfectant and a small flashlight. “Look at the light,” to hold Klaus, clicking it on. After a minute he turned it off again. “I think your brain is okay. How that happened when your face looks like _that_ I don’t know, but your pupils look fine.” 

“I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented my brain.”

Diego looked at him flatly. “Don’t get used to it.” He inspected Klaus’ throat next, determining that it was badly bruised but not permanently damaged. Diego examined Klaus’ wrists, turning them carefully over in his hand to check for sprains. The skin was tender but the bruises seemed to the worst of it. 

Klaus saw the way Diego paused at the sight of the track marks that littered his arm but Diego didn’t say anything as he continued his inspection. Finally, he let go of Klaus’ arms. “I’m going to get water to clean those cuts.” 

Klaus took the opportunity to close his eyes again but perked up when he heard Diego coming back. 

It took several minutes, but Diego gently washed the blood and dirt out of the scratches on Klaus’ face and knees with a touch that was far more delicate than his muscled frame and imposing scar would imply he could be. Klaus flinched and hissed from time to time and Diego always paused before starting again, murmuring apologies. 

“This is going to sting,” he warned, carefully applying antibiotics.

Klaus clenched his jaw and didn’t move.

“Sorry,” Diego told him again. “Almost done.” He gently applied bandages and then leaned back to give Klaus a rest. 

“Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” 

Klaus shrugged and then gasped as his side protested. 

“Okay, now let me see your ribs.” Klaus didn’t move and Diego sighed. “I’ve seen you without a shirt on before, Klaus. We lived in the same house for sixteen years. We’re brothers. I’ve seen you without pants on⏤”

“Fine.” Klaus began pulling weakly on his shirt, pausing and swearing every inch that he managed to move it as pain shot through his chest. 

“Let me help you.”

Klaus didn’t protest and allowed Diego to slowly ease his shirt over his head. 

There was a small intake of breath and Klaus glanced up to see anger flash quickly across Diego’s face before it quickly changed to sadness. 

“Jesus, Klaus.”

He glanced down at himself and nearly groaned. His side was red and purple with the unmistakable print of Earl’s heavy boot. 

“Let me see.” Diego waited until Klaus nodded permission to touch the inflamed area. With a few minor touches, he grimaced and pulled back again. “I think you have a cracked rib. Not a full break but it will hurt like a motherfucker for a few weeks. You’re going to have to take it easy.” 

“Whoopie.” Klaus croaked, leaning forward in attempts to ease the pressure.

At the sight of his back, Diego nearly gasped again. It was covered in bruises that bloomed like twisted wings across his shoulders. 

“Ice,” was all he managed to say, getting up quickly. He took a moment in the kitchen to breathe, his forehead pressed against the freezer door, trying to control his anger. He brought the dozen or so large ice packs he had back to the living room and helped Klaus to lie down on his least injured side, arranging the packs carefully around him. 

“I’m going to take your shoes off,” Diego told him. 

Klaus nodded peacefully, already sinking to the pillow that he’d been given, his body finally beginning to relax.

“What the hell? Klaus!” 

He peered blearily at Diego. “What?” he slurred, just wanting to go to sleep. 

“Your feet are _shredded_. Why didn’t you say something?” He was already reaching for the kit as he spoke. 

“Oh, yeah.” Klaus had forgotten, the pain already lessened just by sitting down and overshadowed by the agitation to his cuts and ribs. 

Diego sighed and eased off the other shoe, tossing it carelessly to the side. 

“Hey,” Klaus protested. “ _Careful._ I like those.”

“They are soaked in blood, Klaus. I don’t think you’re going to save them.” 

“Oh,” he whispered again. It must have been worse than he thought.

“Yeah, _oh_.” Diego didn’t quite sound angry, just resigned as he carefully began to clean the blisters and wrap the cuts in bandages. He worked silently and Klaus was all but asleep by the time Diego was finished. “Is there anything else?” Diego asked as he applied the last band-aid. 

“No,” Klaus murmured.

“Are you sure?” Diego pressed. 

“Yes.” 

“I⏤” Diego stopped himself. The air was suddenly tense and Klaus reluctantly opened his eyes. Diego was watching him with unmistakable concern and a touch of awkwardness. “You don't need someone to run a kit?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

It took Klaus a moment to place what was happening. “No!” he said forcefully, his eyes wide. “No! _Jesus_.”

“Okay, okay,” Diego raised his hands in surrender. He paused again, “I could get my friend Eudora to come… handle the questions. I know it would be, uh, _uncomfortable_ for me to⏤”

“No,” Klaus said firmly. “There is no need to do that. That’s… not what happened.” 

_Well, if you looked at it a certain way Earl maybe, technically⏤ ._ Klaus cut his own line of thinking off. That wasn’t what Diego had been asking about and he wasn’t going to volunteer that information. 

“Are you sure?” Diego pressed. 

“Yes,” Klaus insisted firmly. “I don’t need that.” 

A tiny shred of tension lifted from Diego’s shoulders. “Okay.” He smiled at Klaus in a small timid way that he hadn’t since nearly before Five. 

Klaus returned it, his chest aching in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you, though. I⏤ thank you.” 

“Try to get some rest, Klaus.” 

He was asleep almost before Diego finished speaking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Aftermath of violence from last chapter and wound care.
> 
> Klaus is asked if he needs a rape kit and an allusion to past sexual exploitation. 
> 
> ****
> 
> Look at that!!! Klaus made a good choice!!! Diego kept his promise!!! Who are these people and what have they done with the hot messes that we know and love????
> 
> Lol, don't worry, they will definitely be back...
> 
> Suspiciously dropping plot hints and welcoming every single comment with an enormous smile,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/)


	17. All the King's Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego does his best, Klaus tries, addiction is hard, and trauma is complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end
> 
> I was so impatient to upload this. I was just sitting there going, "Why does it feel like it's been forever since I updated?? It just seems like it's been so much longer than usual..." Then I realized that I updated early on Wednesday instead of Thursday lol. So it actually has been longer than normal, by just a little bit.
> 
> Speaking of the last update...the response to chapter sixteen was so wonderful! (Thank you!!!) I knew people would be happy, but I didn't realize how badly everyone needed some joy... oops. I think I made the right call by making the last update shorter so that yall could have one full chapter of absolutely nothing but hope and comfort ❤
> 
> However... 
> 
> Warning. This chapter will contain angst. 
> 
> But it is also v long!!!! So that's good (?)

Diego called in that day so when Klaus finally woke, well into the late afternoon, he was there waiting. 

Klaus groaned, struggling to sit up. 

“Hey, hey, hold on.” Diego came out of the kitchen to help him. He eased Klaus up slowly. “How are you doing?”

“Water?” Klaus rasped.

“Shit, yeah, of course.” Diego hurried to get him a glass. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Klaus whispered. He drank the entire thing quickly, rubbing his eyes as he tried to wake up. When he looked back to Diego, he almost jumped at the intense stare that he was under. 

“How are you?” Diego asked again.

“Fine?” Klaus shifted uncomfortably. 

“How is your throat?”

“Fine,” Klaus croaked again, undermining his point. At Diego’s look, he amended, “Sore but,” he shrugged, “not the worst I’ve had.”

Diego nodded. “Can I check the rest?”

Klaus shrugged again, speaking still rather more painful than he would prefer. 

With the same gentle touch that he’d used the night before, Diego checked Klaus’ injuries and changed bandages. Although having slept for hours, Klaus felt tired and far away. There was another emotion in the mix that he couldn’t quite place and Klaus mulled the feeling over, his eyes glazed in exhaustion despite having just woken. 

Dully, he complied while Diego leaned him forward to check his back. Even with his neck exposed and vulnerable Klaus found himself relaxing further, lulled by the soft grazing touches across his shoulders and the steady calm that Diego radiated, reliable where Earl, and Jason before him, had been wild and dangerous.

Klaus startled a little as he finally placed the emotion. 

He felt _safe._

“I’m sorry,” Diego muttered, pulling away, thinking that he’d hurt Klaus. “It still looks like just deep bruising. I don’t see any broken bones or anything.”

“Thanks.” Klaus forced himself to smile tightly, the tears that had been threatening to break out quickly forced down. 

“Hungry?” 

Klaus nodded. 

Diego brought him a bowl of sugary cereal and they sat together for a few comfortable hours, watching after-school cartoons, old familiar ease between them. 

  
  


Klaus started to feel sick around five. At first, he thought that the building aches came from his injuries; but as the shaking began, Klaus remembered with black dread when Reginald had withheld medication in the past. Diego had gone into another room to make some phone calls and Klaus questioned what to do. There was no way that he could go find something on the street, he was physically incapable of it at the moment. Klaus was debating if he should check the bathroom for cough syrup when Diego came back. 

“Klaus I was thinking about ordering Chinese for dinner, what⏤ ? Hey? You okay?” Diego interrupted himself as he noticed how wrong Klaus looked. 

“Don’t feel good,” Klaus managed to say. 

“What⏤”

“Gonna puke,” Klaus interrupted, standing. He wobbled on his injured feet and Diego surged forward to catch him. 

“Hold on.” He assisted Klaus as quickly as possible to the bathroom. 

Klaus barely made it to the toilet and still half-missed on his first hurl. 

“Ugh⏤” Diego wrinkled his nose but hovered behind him, awkwardly patting Klaus’ back as he retched again. 

When Klaus was done Diego got him another glass of water. 

He accepted it gratefully. “Thanks. And sorry about your floor.” Klaus’ throat was burning, strained from Earl’s hands and throwing up. The cool water helped soothe it mildly. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Diego told him as Klaus sagged back against the tub. 

“What?” 

“You must have an infection. I thought I cleaned everything well enough but you should have gone in the first place⏤”

“Diego,” Klaus interrupted tiredly, “I don’t have an infection.”

“You’re sweating buckets and you just hurled your guts out. If it’s not an infection it could be an internal⏤”

“It’s withdrawal,” Klaus told him flatly, not quite able to look at Diego.

There was a pause. “What?”

“Withdrawal, Diego. From drugs.”

“I⏤ “

“Come on, Diego. You know I use.”

He winced. “But is it really that bad? I mean withdrawal is⏤ ”

“I know what it feels like. This is just the beginning. It hasn’t even gotten bad yet.”

“Well shit.”

“Yep.”

The pause after that was both awkward and tension-filled. 

“You’re still going to the hospital,” Diego decided. 

“What?”

“Detoxing can be dangerous. You’ve been using for a long time and quitting cold turkey is a horrible idea.”

Klaus stared at the floor as he asked, his tone flat and defeated, “Who says I’m quitting?”

Diego went still. “What?”

Klaus finally looked at him. “What gave you the idea that I’m quitting?”

“Are you⏤ are you fucking kidding me, Klaus?”

He shrugged. 

“You show up here with the shit beaten out of you by _god knows_ who. Some dealer? Or, what, a _client_? Don’t think that I’ve forgotten the last time I saw you, Klaus⏤”

“ _Don’t_.”

“No, I will. Because you cannot possibly convince me that _that_ is good for you. What? You’re so desperate for a hit you’d just… let someone do this to you?” He looked at Klaus with devastation.

Klaus turned away, unable to stand looking at him, and heard only his own self-loathing echoed in Diego’s words. Still, he couldn’t stop.

“You don’t understand.” Klaus thought of Ben, glancing at the mist that swirled near his shoulder. He must be dying to talk to Klaus, to scold him for being so reckless and swear vengeance upon Earl. 

“I understand how hard it is to leave the Academy,” Diego said, carefully, obviously trying to keep himself calm. He was still holding Klaus’ shoulders, half propping him up. “Finding who you are without it… I get that part okay?”

“No, you don’t understand⏤” Klaus tried again. 

“Klaus, please, let me help you.”

“I need it,” he said finally.

“No, you do not, Klaus. You can get clean, I swear. Just⏤ ”

“Do you remember how Dad used to _‘help me’_ with my powers?” Klaus interrupted, every bone in him aching from exhaustion. 

“What? I don’t get how that has⏤”

"My special medicine?"

"Yes, but⏤" 

“He shot me up with opioids and narcotics until I vibed out enough to let spirits into the land of the living. Or something like that.”

Diego took a long pause before saying a resounding, _“Fuck.”_ He let go of Klaus, his arms dropping to his sides in defeat as he stood, taking a few small pacing steps in the cramped bathroom.

Klaus hummed in agreement from his spot on the floor. 

“That’s so fucking insane that I wouldn’t believe it if we had any other father on the planet,” Diego started when he finally got his bearings again. “But still, Klaus. I don't get it. Why the fuck are you using now?”

“I need to.”

Diego slammed the wall in frustration. “Damn it, Klaus!”

Klaus flinched hard, his hand making a half-aborted motion to cover his face, and Diego's heart immediately twinged in regret.

“Sorry. Sorry," he comforted, softening his voice. "Just. God, Klaus." Diego pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I know that Dad is the one who started all of this and I fucking know that his word is law in that damn house. But you’ve been free for _years_ and you’re still pumping your body with the same. Fucking. Shit. If you ask me, you haven’t freed yourself at all. What you’ve done is worse, Klaus. You’re carrying out Dad’s mission under your own goddamn free will.” His quieted tone did nothing to lessen the painful impact of his words. 

“Well fuck you too _._ ” Klaus staggered to his feet. “I’ll just go. Thanks for your help.” He tried to walk out of the bathroom but his legs buckled and Diego dived to catch Klaus before he face-planted. 

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic? Can you hear yourself?”

“Not the point.”

“Oh, so no come back to that⏤”

“Klaus⏤” Diego cut him off, the anger gone from his voice. He just sounded tired. “I’m sorry I compared you to Dad. But come on, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You are going to actually die.” Diego had a hold on Klaus’ arms, not nearly hard enough to hurt, but in his weakened state, it was more than enough to keep him from running. “It only feels like you need it but⏤”

“I can’t leave Ben!” Klaus finally cried, wrenching himself away. 

Diego froze. “What?”

“When I use, I can see Ben.”

Diego let him go, taking a step back as he stared at him with scrutinizing eyes. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Because if you’re lying, Klaus, I swear to god⏤”

“I’m not!”

“Okay, okay, fine. I… believe you. I mean, the drugs thing actually makes a lot of sense now. Like the tube thingy in your arm.”

“Injection port,” Klaus supplied helpfully. 

“That’s fucking evil.” Diego looked vaguely sick at the memory of it. “ I... I don't know what I thought he was doing. Just not, well, uh, that. Fuck.”

“Pretty much.”

“Ben?” Diego asked, heartbreaking hope in his voice.

“Yeah,” Klaus whispered. 

Diego blinked hard against the tears that were brimming in his eyes. 

“But only if I’m high,” Klaus reminded him. “If you want to talk to Ben I could⏤”

The emotion on Diego’s face changed so quickly it almost gave Klaus whiplash. “No. Absolutely fucking not.”

“But⏤”

“I don’t care if it’s true or not, Klaus. As much as I want,” his voice broke, “to talk to Ben again, I’m not letting you ruin yourself to do it. You’re getting sober.”

“I can’t abandon him!” Klaus cried. “He’s going to be so sad and scared and alone and⏤”

“Stop! Just fucking stop it!” Diego shouted. He looked like he wanted to cover his ears. “I… I don’t want to hurt Ben. I _don’t._ But you can’t tell me, Klaus, that he is okay with you doing this to yourself. Ben would never.” 

“I⏤” The Ben shadow pushed closer to Klaus and he glanced at it again. Even as a formless cloud, Ben somehow managed to give him that Look. The one where he silently pleaded with Klaus to get clean, to take care of himself, to stop putting himself in danger. He wondered if he was being selfish, walking around with Ben tethered to watching him enterally. Maybe it was Klaus who was keeping Ben here. 

Klaus glanced down, catching sight of his bruised wrists, ugly purple finger marks wrapped around them. He thought of the way that Jason had turned vile and dark; and how no matter what he did, Earl always had power over him because Klaus relied on him for his supply. How at fourteen, he had looked in his mirror, his eyes red and face puffy from crying, his carefully applied makeup ruined, and swore that one day, no one would be able to tell him what to do. 

“You’re right,” he finally muttered. “So I, uh, guess, I’m getting clean then.”

“Really?” Diego asked, clearly surprised. 

“Really,” Klaus repeated. 

The relief was evident as Diego smiled. “It’s going to be okay.”

Klaus did not have his confidence. 

***

Klaus did eventually convince Diego that going to the hospital was a bad idea based on what happened the last time that he was in one. And considering that neither of them had the money to spend on a rehab that would be discreet enough that Reginald couldn’t find him, the only choice left was for Klaus to detox at Diego’s apartment. Which Diego agreed to only as a last resort. 

“It’s still a bad idea for you to quit without any kind of help,” he insisted. 

“We’re in a circle, Diego. We’ve established that I can’t go to a hospital already. How we’re going to get the detox drugs is a mystery.” 

Diego thought for a moment, grimacing. “I’m going to make a call,” he finally said cryptically, leaving the room before Klaus could say anything. “If you need to puke use the bucket,” he called behind him. 

Klaus rolled his eyes but almost immediately needed to grab said bucket, throwing up bile again. In the back room of the small apartment, Klaus could hear Diego’s voice but he couldn’t make out what he was saying beyond a few words. 

“But⏤ please⏤ explain later⏤ help⏤ owe you⏤” 

It went on for a few minutes and Klaus eventually gave up on trying to figure out what was happening or who Diego knew that had black market buprenorphine. Finally, he heard a relieved _thank you_ and the sound of Diego coming back. 

“It’s taken care of,” was the only explanation that he offered before taking the bucket to go dump it, making no complaint other than a small grimace as he held the reeking pail as far from his as possible. 

Klaus was shivering violently, curled on the couch when the buzzer sounded. 

“Yeah?” Diego responded, pressing the intercom, sending a worried glance back at Klaus. 

“It’s me. I have your shit.” Klaus didn’t recognize the voice but Diego smiled and buzzed the visitor in.

Eudora knocked twice before opening the door and letting herself into the apartment. 

Klaus winced on instinct at her uniform.

“Hey, Diego I have the stuff you asked for but I still don’t⏤.” She saw Klaus on the sofa and stopped. “What have you done?” she asked Diego flatly. 

“Nice to meet you too,” Klaus grinned sarcastically at her. 

“Eudora, _thank you._ ” Diego stepped in quickly. “This is Klaus.” There was a silence as she stared at him. “My brother,” he added.

“Brother.” Eudora glanced at Klaus again. 

He waved.

“Okay.” And that was it. Eudora didn’t ask any more questions, switching into operation mode. “Here,” she handed the brown paper bag she carried to Diego. “This was as much as I could get from my EMS guy. He got what he could from his doctor guy. It’s not a full course but it should help. He wrote down directions on how to use it.”

“Thank you. Again.”

She waved her hand, brushing it off, and turned back to Klaus. She extended her hand. “I’m Eudora.”

“Klaus.” He shook her hand briefly before wrapping his arm around himself again.

“What happened to you?” she asked, her eyes tracking the bruising that had only become more prominent since Klaus arrived at Diego's apartment. 

“Long story.”

She looked at him scrutinizing before shrugging. “Fair.”

“You want something to drink? Coffee?” Diego asked.

“I need to get back on my route.” The, _which you should be on_ when unsaid but Diego could read it in her pointed expression. 

“I know you’re busy but can I get you a coffee for the road or something?”

“I’m fine,” Eudora insisted, making towards the door. At Diego’s slightly dejected look she added more gently, “But thank you.”

“You’re the one who⏤”

“It’s fine.” Eudora stopped him. “I _will_ call in a favor at some point, but it’s fine.” She cast one last half-smile at Klaus. “Nice to meet you. Diego, I’ll talk to you later.” Eudora gave him a pointed look that said she had a lot of questions that had not been answered before leaving just as quickly as she came. 

***

The buprenorphine helped but only minorly. Klaus spent the next ten hours switching between the couch on the bathroom floor as he puked, shat, and sweated the drugs out of his system. Diego couldn’t take that much time off to sit with him, it had been hard enough to even get that first day, and the hours that Klaus spent alone were the worst. He’d vaguely agreed to Diego’s rule that Klaus was to be locked in the apartment when he had to be left alone, but that didn’t stop him from considering endless escape routes. 

The temptation to use was enormous, especially in the long silent hours that Klaus was left alone. In the oppressive silence of the apartment, paranoia rattled deep in his bones as Klaus tried desperately to assure himself that the spirits lurking in the shadows were just Ben, and not the remains of some woman who had been skinned by the last person to live in Diego’s rooms or, worse, a man who had skinned people. 

He met one of those once. Klaus didn’t care to repeat the experience. 

Even dead, he was terrifying. 

Klaus wondered if it was better to see the enemy than to only sense its threat. 

***

“How long are you staying?” Diego asked on the third day.

Klaus stiffened. He'd assumed... but obviously, he shouldn't have. He didn't know why he did. “I can leave if you⏤”

“No!” Diego shouted quickly.

Klaus jumped.

“No,” Diego repeated, quieting himself. “That’s not what I meant. I just, I thought you, uh, ‘had someone’? Who you cared about? I thought you might want to go home."

“Oh.” Klaus had forgotten that he’d mentioned that the last time he saw Diego. “We broke up.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He didn't feel like talking about Jason. 

“They didn’t…?” Diego asked awkwardly. 

“Didn’t?”

“Do _that_ did they?” Diego looked at Klaus’ injuries pointedly.

“No," Klaus assured him. "We broke up only a few months after I⏤ after we last saw each other.”

“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good. At least it wasn’t, uh, that.”

Klaus didn’t mention the dozens of other times Jason had hurt him.

“So who did⏤?”

“Diego, I said we’re not talking about it.”

He sighed. “Fine. We'll wait until you’re ready.”

Klaus quietly thought he never would be.

***

“ _Please_.” He batted his best puppy-dog eyes.

“No, Klaus.”

“Come on,” Klaus whined, “they’re totally legal!”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s unfair to have to quit everything at once!”

“It’s faster to do everything in one sweep.”

“It causes undue stress.”

“You don’t know what undo stress is.” 

“I just used it in a sentence.”

“Klaus⏤”

“Come on, Diego. Please? I’m going crazy in here. I need something.”

Diego growled, banging his forehead on the table. He was getting sick of this conversation. They’d had it almost every day for the past two and half weeks that Klaus had been there.

“You know, people used to actually think that⏤”

“Fine!’ Diego shouted. 

Klaus stopped his tirade. “What?”

“Fine, I will buy you cigarettes. Just stop talking about it.”

He beamed. “Yes! Thank you, Diego!” Klaus clapped and bounced. He stared intently at Diego. 

“What?”

“Well, are you going to get them or...?”

“Oh my god.” Diego got up and left, mostly to take a break from Klaus, though he did bring the cigarettes when he came back four hours later.

***

The next day, Klaus smoked through a pack before noon, the relief hitting him better than any of the drugs that Diego had given him for the detox. Still, Klaus decided it was taking too long to get what he wanted and broke into Diego’s top cabinet. He stole a bottle of bourbon, pouring himself a large juice glass of it. As he cracked open the second pack, turning slightly green from the volume of smoke that even he wasn’t used to, Klaus heard a faint whisper.

_Klaus._

“Ben?” hope clearly colored his voice. “Are you here?”

_Klaus._

“I’m here!” he called into the lazy fog of smoke that hadn’t quite managed to flow out the window. 

_Klaus._

“I’m here,” he repeated, closing his eyes. He tried to focus on the voice, imagining Ben materializing around it. Klaus took several rattling breaths, turned ragged from the smoke. 

He went through six more cigarettes before the spirit began to take shape. The man looked more ghost-like than any dead person Klaus had communicated with before. He was barely distinguishable from the smoky fog that hung through the apartment, the colors of his clothing bleached pale and the edges of his body fuzzy and faded. 

“Klaus,” he called again, a shark-like grin creeping across his face, twisting it into a bizarre parody of a smile. Blood soaked his arms up past the elbow, and as he came closer Klaus could see the dirt caught under his nails. A knife stuck out of the man’s chest, the obvious killing blow. The blade was familiar to Klaus as his own hands

He’d seen Diego carry and throw thousands of them.

Klaus recoiled back. “No, no, no, no, no,” he begged, raising his arms over his head. “No, no, no, no, no.”

It had been a long time since he had faced a ghost of that type, though they had once been common. If Klaus was using a substance he was more familiar with, he might have had the ability to banish him. 

“Klaus,” the man called again, his voice a mocking sing-song. “Don’t you remember me? We met a few years back, down at the old fishing warehouse. You, and me, and your siblings? Don’t you remember?”

“No, please go away,” Klaus begged.

“You don’t remember? You've killed enough people that you don’t remember me?”

“Leave me alone.”

“To be fair, I didn’t come here for you,” the ghost said mockingly. “I was haunting Diego, he’s the one who killed me. Seemed only fair to stalk him for my eternity. But I hate all of you little Umbrella freaks, and it looks like you're the only one I'm gonna actually be able to get to. So, unlucky for you, you’re not getting rid of me.” He smiled grotesquely. 

“No!”

“You’re going to sit here, Klaus, and listen to me. You’re going to hear every detail of how I would like to get my revenge. I’m going to tell exactly how I would cut your knife-happy brother up until he knows the pain of what he did to me. I'm sure you can imagine. You saw what I did to those boys.”

 _“Nononononononononono._ ” Klaus shut his eyes tightly rocking himself back and forth. He scrambled desperately for control, imagining huge hands pushing the ghost away, sending him back into the smoke of oblivion. But his body was too worn and the imprecise mixture of cigarettes and alcohol gave him unstable control at best.

The man lingered for hours, hissing his twistedly fond memories of the horrible things that he had done in his life and what he wanted to do to Diego and every other one of Klaus' siblings. He finished with what he would do to Klaus, things that made him, a seasoned veteran of the macabre and traumatizing, shrink backward in fear and disgust.

Even knowing the ghost couldn't touch him, Klaus was paralyzed. All he could do was keep his ears covered tightly while he rocked himself in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. But he was unable to block the dead man out.

Still, it was only when he realized he couldn’t find Ben, too weak to conjure more than one spirit at a time, that Klaus began to cry. He had never been able to weather these kinds of attacks by himself. Since his death, Ben had always been there to help him, to block out the sounds of the wailing and begging and threats. In that moment, Klaus was alone. To him, it was the worst thing that anyone could be.

The ghost saw his tears and laughed.

The dead man was gone by the time that Diego returned that night, but Klaus was still lightheaded from the smoke and a bit buzzed. He lay limp on the couch while Diego reamed him out for the stench of the apartment.

“I didn’t buy you cigarettes so that you could chain smoke⏤” he checked the cartons laying on the coffee table, “ _twenty-seven_ in just over twelve hours!” 

Klaus blinked dully at the wall.

“Do I have to ration them for you? Give you a couple before I leave and lock the rest away? Do I need to treat you like a child, Klaus?”

Klaus wondered vaguely if Diego had forgotten that Klaus was given the same lock-picking lessons he’d had. 

“Fucking hell, it reeks.” Diego stalked into the kitchen to open a window.

Klaus realized that what he would find a split second before he heard it.

“KLAUS!” 

He flinched, groaning. Diego had seen the open lock hanging from the liquor cabinet. 

“What did you do?” Diego appeared in front of him, his voice dangerously low.

“What do you think?” Klaus asked, turning over, his head aching. 

The next moment he was yanked up by his shirt. 

“Diego, what the fuck⏤”

“You are supposed to be getting sober, Klaus! Sober! What the fuck were you thinking?! I am giving you this fucking chance because you said that you were going to get _sober_ ⏤” 

“Well I didn’t use⏤”

“I. Don’t. CARE! You are _getting_ sober and you are _staying_ sober on your own, or so help me GOD I will strap your sorry fucking ass down to the bed every time I leave you alone.”

“Do not,” Klaus warned, angry for the first time even as panic at the thought of being _stapped down_ clutched his throat, “ _ever_ threaten me like that.” He wrenched himself free from Diego’s grip. 

“Are you going to stay sober?”

Klaus didn’t speak right away. He just stared down Diego, who watched him unflinchingly. “Fucking fine,” Klaus finally snapped, pushing past Diego. 

“ _Fucking fine_ what?” Diego asked, his voice suddenly empty and limp without his customary anger. 

Klaus paused, not looking back. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “That’s all I can promise.” 

“Okay,” Diego agreed, relief evident in his tone. “Okay.”

***

After the argument, Klaus managed to keep his smoking to a reasonable level and did most of it hanging out a window so the smell wouldn’t be too strong when Diego came home. Things began to settle down and they fell into a routine together, forming a little life. They split take out and argued over dishes and what to watch on tv and not much else. Although he was often busy, Diego made time to spend with Klaus, kept him company so he wouldn’t go insane in the empty apartment he wasn’t yet allowed to leave on his own. Diego even emptied his liquor cabinet and went dry alongside Klaus, at least while he was home, though Klaus wasn’t sure if that was so much an act of solidarity as it was mistrust. 

He didn't bring Eudora around again, though Klaus, through incessant needling and sheer persistence, managed to get him to confess that they were in fact dating. Klaus tried not to question if Diego was avoiding inviting her over was because he was embarrassed by his brother the addict or by his own emotional vulnerability. Or maybe it was because Klaus shouted out the window to 'fuck responsibly' every time Diego was leaving going to see her, and Diego was worried about what Klaus would say in front of Eudora. Which Klaus thought was unfair. He _could_ be considerate if he wanted to. If Diego ever did bring his girlfriend over, Klaus would have stuck to the socially acceptable model of what material is appropriate for embarrassing a family member in front of their date and simply discussed dumb things that Diego had done as a kid. He wasn't a total asshole. 

Still, although unaddressed tension from their childhood (and adulthood, to be honest) did still lay between them, a burgeoning relationship still managed to unfurl its first tentative leaves. 

***

Diego was woken just past three in the morning by muffled cries. At first, he was disoriented, unsure what exactly had disrupted him, but as soon as he realized that the sounds were coming from his living room⏤ from Klaus⏤ he was out of bed with a knife in each hand. 

Diego crept down the hallway silently while his thoughts ran wild, considering everything from the return of whoever had hurt Klaus to a random break-in. However, when he peered around the corner, all Diego saw was Klaus, moving restlessly on the couch, obviously still asleep but dreaming unpleasant things. 

A small cry broke from Klaus' lips, followed by a muttered slur of words Diego couldn’t understand other than the tiny plea of, “Help.” 

Leaving his knives on a side table, Diego hurried to the couch, narrowly avoiding Klaus' flailing arm that threatened to smack him in the eye. “Hey,” Diego said, gently shaking Klaus’ shoulder. “Klaus. Wake up.”

Klaus tried to pull away, his breath hitching, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Hey!” Diego said louder, his grip tightening. “Klaus!”

Klaus’ eyes flew open and before Diego could say anything, he tore himself away from his brother, climbing half-way up the back of the couch. "Get away from me!" he shouted and landed a solid kick on Diego’s jaw. Diego was knocked into the coffee table by surprise while Klaus lost his balance, tipping himself over the back of the couch with a loud thump.

Recovering from his shock, Diego rubbed his jaw. It hurt, but it didn’t seem like Klaus did any serious damage. From the sound of it, he might have actually hurt himself more. “Klaus?” Diego called, still rubbing his face. “You okay?”

“Diego?” Klaus’ voice came from behind the couch, high and shaky. 

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Uh,” Diego could hear as Klaus shifted, but he didn’t appear to be getting up. “Yeah. I’m good,” he croaked. 

“You didn’t hit your head right?” Diego checked as he carefully moved to sit on the coffee table instead of the floor. 

“Nope. All good. Did, uh, did I kick you?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Good shot though. You surprised me.”

“Haha,” Klaus laughed flatly. “Thanks.”

“Really. My jaw is going to be bruised tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

There was a pause. Klaus still didn’t move from his place behind the couch, out of Diego’s line of sight. “You sure you’re good?” Diego asked.

“Fine.”

“You’re laying on the ground.”

“I’m sitting.”

Diego sighed. “Technicality. You have to tell me if you’re injured. House rule."

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you sitting on the ground?”

“I’m… embarrassed.”

Diego blinked. Klaus didn’t do embarrassed. “I’m not going to laugh at you for falling,” he said as kindly as he could.

“Thanks, but I’m more embarrassed about waking you up because of a stupid bad dream like I’m five or something.”

 _Oh,_ Diego thought. “I’m not going to laugh at that either.”

Klaus paused before he murmured, “Thanks.”

“Want to talk about it?” Diego asked. 

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Diego knew enough to ask if something was bothering someone and offer help⏤ Eudora had emphasized that much when instructing him on what Normal Healthy Communication looked like, but he wasn’t prepared to push it. He figured he was supposed to respect boundaries or some crap like that too. 

The brothers sat in awkward silence. Diego looked around the room and noticed the window did not have its curtain drawn. The city traffic and electronic billboards down the street flooded the apartment with blueish light, casting strange shadows across the floor. 

“It’s bright in here,” Diego commented casually, looking to move the conversation past whatever had upset Klaus. “I’ll get that for you.” 

He stood and had started to close the drapes when Klaus quickly protested, “It’s okay!”

Diego looked back, finally able to see behind the couch. Klaus was sitting with his legs drawn up to his chest, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other extended as if to stop Diego.

“Isn’t it hard for you to sleep like this?” Diego asked.

“No, uh, I don’t mind. It’s okay,” Klaus fumbled to respond. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear with a shaking hand. 

Diego was suddenly reminded of Klaus’ room at the Academy and the way he hoarded lamps and candles and strings of Christmas lights. At one point, Reginald had been in a foul mood about something or another and started grumbling about Klaus’ outlets being a fire hazard. Diego couldn't remember exactly how it had happened anymore, but Klaus must have protested too much because their father ultimately decided to teach him and lesson and take all of the lights away. What Diego did remember, stronger than anything else, was how, for weeks after that, Klaus woke up the entire hallway with his screams until they all lost enough sleep that Klaus was finally allowed to have his lights again. 

Now, almost nine years later, Klaus had the same panic on his face at Diego suggesting he close the curtain as he did when Reginald took his source of comfort away.

“Okay,” Diego said casually, stepping away from the window. “It’s up to you.”

Klaus gave him a weak smile, slowly unfolding himself. “You probably want to get back to bed,” he reasoned, wincing slightly as he stood. 

“I'm tired,” Diego agreed. “You sure you’re okay?”

Klaus waved his hand dismissively. “Bruised but fine.”

“Okay.” Diego watched him limp his way back around the couch and was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to take care of Klaus in some way, even if he didn't want to let Diego do so. “I’ll get you another blanket," he finally said, watching Klaus curl up in a little ball. "It’s too cold in here.”

Diego made sure Klaus was as comfortable as possible without embarrassing him by making his worry too obvious. He brought Klaus the promised blanket and a glass of water. (Warm milk would have been too much.) He watched Klaus drink it, then arranged the bedding, straightening out the blankets that had become tangled during Klaus' nightmare, stopping just short of physically tucking Klaus in. They wished each other goodnight for the second time and Diego went back to his room, leaving the hallway light on. 

In the morning, neither of them mentioned the extra light, but every single night after that Diego just happened to “forget” to turn it off when he went to sleep. 

***

“So a cop, huh?” Klaus asked, lounging lazily on the couch, not really watching the movie that Diego had put on.

“Yeah?” Diego asked, a hint of hostility in his response.

“Soooo, what’s with that?”

“Why, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Klaus said quickly. _Everything,_ he thought. “Just wondering. Making conversation. Showing an interest in your life and shit.”

Some of the tension left Diego’s shoulders. “I don’t know. I figured I have the ability to help people, so I have a moral obligation to do so.”

“Oh.” Klaus didn’t know what else to say. He’d never really felt a moral obligation to stop crime. Though admittedly his abilities were less useful for that than Diego’s were. He guessed it felt good the small handful of times that he’d managed to get a name of a murder from the dead and helped give them peace. But he felt no real desire to go back to it. Klaus wondered if that made him a bad person. 

“Yeah,” Diego shifted, not looking at him. 

“That’s a good reason, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Diego relaxed back against the couch, his head brushing Klaus’ leg. “What about you?” he asked after a moment.

“Huh?”

“What do you want to do, Klaus?”

He thought for a moment. “I have no idea.”

Diego nodded. "Fair. But I'll help you figure it out. If you want." He blushed.

Klaus felt warm as he smiled in return. 

They fell into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. 

***

“Klaus,” Diego asked, more than a month after Klaus had first arrived. 

“Hmm? Klaus didn’t look up from his magazine draped across his lap.

“Can we talk?”

Klaus' heart sank, but he forced himself to respond casually, placing his finger between the pages to hold his spot as he flicked the magazine closed. He looked up at Diego. “Sup?”

Diego shifted uncomfortably before moving to sit down in a chair facing Klaus.

 _Oh fuck, he’s kicking me out,_ Klaus thought grimly.

“Klaus,” Diego started.

_Fuck._

“Who hurt you?”

It took a beat for Klaus’ brain to catch up to what was said. “I⏤ wait, what?”

“When you came here, who had hurt you?”

Klaus gripped the magazine tighter but kept his expression carefully schooled. “You’re still on that?” he asked lightly. 

Diego was incredulous. “ _Still on⏤”_

“Diego,” Klaus interrupted softly, not letting him fly off the handle like he clearly wanted to.

He stopped and looked at Klaus, his attention fully granted.

 _“Please,_ ” Klaus’ voice wavered as he asked, “just let it go. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He held up a hand to stop Diego from protesting that. “I’m here now, okay? I just… don’t want to think about it. Please.”

Diego searched his expression carefully. “You know I would kill them for you, right?” he said quietly.

Klaus huffed a surprised laugh, a small smile curved across his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re a big man, you’ll protect me.”

“Klaus, I mean it,” Diego insisted seriously. 

He saw the intensity in his brother’s eyes, the thing that he very reluctantly called love, which Klaus had so easily dismissed as obligation in that past. For once, he allowed himself to believe it. “I know,” he answered. 

***

For a precious time, things in the small apartment went shockingly well, to the point that Diego and Klaus both allowed themselves to relax somewhat in the assurance that maybe this time, it would finally work.

But, like all good things in Hargreeves’ family must, that hope came to end. As time went on, Diego came home angrier and more frustrated every day, grumbling about the stupid rules and regulations of the force. 

“I know what I’m doing, Klaus!” he ranted. “I know a _hell_ of a lot more than the rest of the cadets! I’ve fucking seen and done things that most seasoned detectives couldn’t dream of.”

“I know,” Klaus drawled in the voice of someone who had listened to the same argument a hundred times before. 

“If they would just let me do what I know how to do⏤”

“You could get in and out and take out more of the baddies than the rest of your squadron put together but ‘stupid fucking protocol’ says that no man goes in alone. Yes, Diego. _I know._ ” 

Diego scowled. “I’m not looking for criticism right now.” 

“I wasn’t⏤”

Diego had already stalked out of the room, a door slamming shut down the hallway. 

Klaus expelled a huff of air, flopping his head back on the armrest in annoyed defeat. 

***

As the pressures of working inside the law clamped down on Diego, he began spending more time out, often not coming back to the apartment until the small hours of the morning. On those nights, Klaus sat by himself in the silence of the apartment, uninterested in turning on the tv or flicking through one of the books or police manuals that littered the end tables. Occasionally, he could hear the voice of a family next door or music from the angsty teen that lived below them or the tv playing _Golden Girls_ from the little old lady in the apartment above. As the light slipped away into blackness and the shadows of the dead bled into the dim of the room, Klaus found himself unable to find the energy to get up. He sat unmoving in the dark, waiting for Diego to come home. 

Which, considering that Klaus slept in the living room, he usually heard. At the sight of Diego’s black clothing and bruises and cuts, Klaus would simply raise an eyebrow and get up to find the first aid kit.

“Want to talk about it?” he would ask.

“Klaus, shut up,” Diego always answered. 

_Maybe he thought that I was mocking,_ Klaus told himself as the tender part of him that had not yet hardened was bruised black at the dismissal. 

***

The loneliness crept into Klaus’ life, cold and familiar, the color and light that he’d found over the past two months turning to gray. It was on the night before the anniversary of Ben’s death that the solitude overcame him in dark crushing weight. Diego had been gone for over thirty-six hours when the ringing silence of the apartment finally became too much and Klaus was driven off the couch and into the night. 

Before he left, he slipped into Diego’s room and pulled the middle drawer out of the dresser, feeling around the underside of it until he found the envelope of cash. Diego had been using the same hiding place his entire life. 

He didn’t have to be familiar with the neighborhood for Klaus to know where to go. It was like a sixth, or in Klaus’ case, seventh sense. Like a homing beacon, he found a dealer and then walked for several blocks, his fist clenched tightly around his score in his pocket. 

Klaus made it all the way back to the apartment without using, telling himself over and over in his mind, _If Diego is there I will flush it._

_If Diego is there I won’t use._

_If Diego is there I will flush it._

He made his way up the stairs as slowly as he could, his heart beating faster with each flight. Klaus wasn’t sure if he was praying that Diego would be there or that he wouldn’t be. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to use, or if he wanted Diego to stop him. 

Klaus paused outside the door, collecting himself. With a nervously shaking hand, he slid the key into the lock and turned it. He eased the door open to a dark apartment, just as silent and empty as when Klaus had left it. 

His chest ached but he flipped on the light, calling, “Diego?” There was no response. Klaus walked through the entire apartment, calling for Diego until he was sure that he wasn’t home. 

Klaus walked back to the living room and sat down on the couch, the silence falling around him like a wet woolen blanket. He placed the needle and the heroin on the table and looked at it. The black energy that he knew was Ben swirled around it, almost concealing it from view. Klaus sat there for a long time, waiting and staring down at the poison. At the promise. At his ticket to Ben and companionship and peace and pain. His way to Beyond. He knew the exact dosage to give him any one of those things.

As the clock turned past midnight, Klaus stood mechanically and walked to Diego’s room. He riffled through the closet, less careful than he had been before when taking the money, leaving shirts crumpled on the ground. When Klaus found a belt he walked back to the living room. 

Klaus sat back down on the couch, still moving in a jolting, uneven way. With complete automation, Klaus wrapped the belt around his arm, unaffected by the spirit mist that swirled angrily around him, passing through Ben with ease. He pulled the belt tight, his old damaged veins weakly surfacing. Klaus held it in place with his teeth and prepared the needle with practiced ease. It sank home in one smooth motion and Klaus pressed the syringe down. 

The weeks of sobriety only made the high sweeter as it rushed down every fiber of Klaus’ body, filling him with tingling light. Klaus fell back against the couch, smiling. 

When Ben didn’t immediately appear, Klaus frowned and reached out to him. He could feel Ben’s presence, but he did not materialize. It was as if something on the other side of their connection was tugging Ben back, resisting crossing over into the living world. Klaus had never experienced anything like that before. 

He frowned. _Maybe his measurements were off?_ Klaus carefully filled the syringe again, or at least as carefully as he could at the moment. He added another third of a dose and shot up again in clumsy movements. 

As the second wave hit, Klaus dropped the needle unintentionally as he called, “Ben? I’m sorry. I’m trying. I can take more if you need it to⏤”

“NO!” Ben shouted, ripping through the veil between worlds. “Klaus, stop.”

“Ben!” Klaus smiled and listed to the side. “I did it! I was so worried.” His cheer slid quickly into sadness as he explained, “I tried to find you but it was _hard._ It’s never hard when I'm high. Why was it hard?” 

“I was stopping you,” Ben admitted quietly. “I thought that if I didn’t show up, you might stop.” Ben sounded broken and empty and it was almost enough to make Klaus regret what he’d done. “But you just took more instead...” Ben looked at the needle and the last traces of heroin that still sat on the table. "It's my fault," he whispered, his voice dripping in grief. "You were doing so well." 

“Hey, no,” Klaus comforted, his eyes huge and glassy. “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”

Ben’s face looked pinched and sad and Klaus couldn’t figure out why.

“I’m sorry, Benny,” he said. “I know you don’t like it, but I had to. Don’t be mad.”

“Why, Klaus?” Ben asked. “Why do you have to?”

“I missed you.”

Ben closed his eyes as if in pain. “I would never ask for you to do this, Klaus. Diego was right about that.”

“I know.” Ben always was the best of them. “I just⏤ I’m so sorry, Ben. I couldn’t save⏤” Klaus’ voice cracked as his chest shuttered with unshed sobs. “I⏤ I should have kept more pressure on you. I was afraid I was going to hurt you. You were bleeding so much and I⏤"

“I’m not mad at you, Klaus,” Ben told him softly, sliding down to sit on the coffee table across from him in a mirror to how Diego had weeks before on Klaus' first night with him. “Not for that. For fucking up your body, yes, but not for that.”

Klaus sobbed, slumping down to lay on his side, curling into a ball. He thought of how selfish he was for making Ben’s death about him and cried more. Ben perched next to him, keeping him company through the long dark hours of the night until the high faded away and Klaus blacked out with exhaustion. 

“Klaus? Klaus? What the fu⏤ KLAUS WAKE UP!”

Klaus was jerked from his sleep by Diego shaking his shoulders roughly as he shouted.

“Wha?” he slurred in confusion. 

“What have you _done?_ ” Diego’s face was dark with anger. 

“I…” Klaus couldn’t think fast enough to explain. 

“What the fuck is this?” Diego held the used needle, picked up from where Klaus had left it discarded on the floor. 

Klaus just looked at it, unable to speak.

“Or this?” Diego jerked painfully on the belt, still wrapped loosely around his arm. 

Klaus winced. 

“What the fuck did you do, Klaus?”

“I used, Diego. Okay? You want me to say it?” Klaus asked, exhausted, unable to shout back at him. He was just too tired.

Diego turned and hurled the needle at the wall. 

Klaus flinched at the impact. 

“Why?” Diego asked, his voice cracking, the energy suddenly snapped from him. 

“I missed Ben,” he whispered. 

Diego took a deep shaking breath like Klaus had punched him in the stomach. “We all miss Ben, Klaus. But I don't shoot up when I do.” 

“If shooting up meant you could see him, you would.”

Diego looked at Klaus, his expression unreadable. 

Dimly, Klaus wondered if Diego didn’t say anything because he knew that Klaus was right. For a moment, Klaus thought that Diego might admit so.

“Where did you even get the money?” he asked instead. 

For the first time, guilt turned in his stomach and Klaus didn’t say anything. 

“Did you⏤?” Diego blushed red as he made a vague gesture and couldn’t seem to know how to ask.

Klaus knew what he meant. Hot shame turned his insides to molten lead. “No,” he answered. 

“Then?” 

Klaus could see the moment when confusion turned to realization. Diego’s eyes widened and he stormed down the hallway. Klaus sat where he was, listening to the dresser drawer being pulled open. He could see Diego in his mind’s eye, tearing open the envelope and counting the cash even as it became evident that some was missing. The angry footsteps came back down the hall and Klaus still did not move, feeling detached, like he was watching it all happen far away and to someone else. Maybe he couldn’t find the energy to move because Klaus knew he deserved it. 

“You stole from me?” 

The way that Diego looked at him made Klaus feel lower than the press of Earl’s boot against his neck ever had. Perhaps because he cared about what Diego thought of him. 

“Klaus? You fucking stole from me?”

Klaus looked at him helplessly.

“I can’t fucking believe you.” The anger was definitely back. “After everything, Klaus? After I rubbed your back while you puked your guts out getting clean? I let you stay here, I put my job at risk getting you contraband drugs⏤ I put _Eudora’s_ job at risk⏤ so that you could get clean, and you fucking stole from me? What is wrong with you?” He was staring at Klaus like he was a stranger, a grotesque thing that had come along and stained his beautiful new life. 

_And,_ Klaus thought, _he would be right._

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Diego asked, a note of desperation in his voice, like Klaus might have something to say that made it all okay again. Like he might be able to justify what he’d done. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Diego,” was all Klaus had. “I’m a junkie. It’s what we do.”

Diego looked away, blinking back tears quickly. “I can’t keep doing this, Klaus. I can’t⏤”

“I know,” he said. Klaus stood up. He let the belt fall from his arm, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. Moving stiffly, he picked up his jacket from where he’d flung it on the floor earlier that night. It would be easier if he did it himself, less painful if Klaus could convince himself that this was his idea. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

“Klaus⏤”

"You’re right, Diego. You don’t need this. And I know I’m just going to let you down again if I stay. Thanks. For everything.” He pulled on the coat and brushed past Diego to the door. 

“Wait,” Diego called, sounding almost, panicked, though Klaus wasn’t sure why he would be. “I didn’t mean for⏤”

“Trust me, Diego,” Klaus interrupted. “I know it’s true. And so do you. So let’s stop delaying the inevitable, yeah?” He paused before the door, not managing to look back as he finished, “You’ll be a good hero. You’re… you’re a good person.” He stepped out of the apartment and was gone before Diego could say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: withdrawal and bodily fluids/puke
> 
> Graphic depiction of injecting heroine 
> 
> ***
> 
> Like, I am actually SO sorry. After seeing how happy everyone was last chapter I was like... oh no... you poor things...
> 
> I actually feel a little guilty lmao 
> 
> I know I gave you hope and then I just ripped it all away... but it's an immersive experience. You get to feel what the characters do lol.  
> But to offer some comfort, I will offer a little bit of a *spoiler* and say that eventually, things actually will be okay.  
> Just not quite yet...
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me anyway????  
> I hope???
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


	18. Judicium Divinum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judicium Divinum: divine judgment, the wrath of god and punishment for sins
> 
> In which Diego keeps a promise and karma is a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw at the end
> 
> Alternate title: "Diego's Sidequest". 
> 
> Surprise!!! Welcome to a bonus chapter!!! It's only like 1,600 words so I'm being nice and not counting it as a regular update lol. You can still expect a normal length chapter on Thursday .
> 
> Originally the concept of this mini-segment existed only as a few lines of implication buried in another chapter, but I decided to flesh it out due to even more hatred of a certain character than expected... and me feeling bad about how much pain I give my readers. (That is why the chapter count went up by one... if anyone is paying close enough attention to notice.) 
> 
> So anyway, enjoy a rare peek into a different pov and what is honestly just "fanservice"
> 
> ... I don't like calling you fans  
> That's weird.  
> But it is for you ❤

Diego’s time on the force ended two weeks after Klaus left in a spectacular fall-out that involved a broken nose, two broken fingers (Diego had thrown that punch a little too hard), a formal write-up, and the accusation of callous corruption. It also fed quite directly into a breakup that left both Diego and Eudora hurt and angry. 

After spending a few days drinking far more than was entirely healthy, Diego’s first real action was to take to the streets. He had quickly gotten over most of his anger at Klaus, leaving him to feel only panic and guilt at the thought of Klaus ending up in another situation like the one that left him bruised and battered. If he did, it was because Diego had failed to keep him safe. 

Without his responsibilities as an officer in training, Diego had the time he needed to take his vigilante work a step further, with the first order of business being to repair his mistake.

He combed through shelters and clean needle programs and every homeless encampment he could find in search of clues. He passed around the only recent picture he had of Klaus, a ridiculous selfie he’d taken after swiping Diego’s phone, and begged everyone he met to tell him if they’d seen his missing brother. Thankfully, he’d thought to print the picture out because less than a month after leaving the force he’d been forced to drop his plan, no longer able to afford his phone and losing his photos in the process. That image of Klaus and one of Eudora were the only things he’d managed to save from it.

Privately, Diego thought he’d escaped with what was most important. 

A few of the people Diego asked recognized Klaus, though no one could say where he’d gone as they hadn’t seen him since before he came to the apartment. Their vague implications that he could be dead in a ditch, and that they found the possibility likely considering how much they’d seen him use, did nothing to stop the ever-growing panic in Diego’s chest as each day passed with no sign of his brother.

He did eventually stumble upon a lead, the suggestion to check with a dealer that Klaus was known to have used on a regular basis. The hint took him to a crumbling house deep in a rough neighborhood well across the city from his apartment.

Diego struggled to keep disgust off his face as he watched the rotting building, tracking each person that came in and out and seeing no hint of Klaus. Eventually, he figured out who seemed to be in charge and subtly tailed him the next time he left, watching with distaste while the man picked up a girl and took her into an alleyway. 

He very purposefully did not think of Klaus in that situation while he waited for them to finish. 

When the girl came out, still brushing down her skirt, Diego scowled again but waited two more minutes before ducking into the alley. The man was leaning casually against the wall, smoking lazily. 

“Hey,” Diego called, forcing himself to remain casual. “You Earl?”

The man smiled, showing cracked brown teeth. “Who’s asking?”

“No one important,” Diego answered allusively. “I was told you could help me with something.” 

Earl rolled his eyes, flicking his cigarette. “If you’re looking for a hit, go to one of my guys. I’m the brains, not the workman.” He glanced at Diego again, looking him up and down. “Though if you’re looking for a job as some hired muscle, I suppose we can talk.”

Diego twitched in annoyance, pressing on. “I’m looking for information.” 

“Oh?” Earl raised his eyebrows. “Then I don’t think I have what you’re looking for.”

“If you can find it,” Diego barely restrained himself from snarling, “I may be able to compensate you.”

Earl smirked. “All right. I’ll bite. What information are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for someone. His name is Klaus⏤”

The amusement dropped from Earl’s face in an instant, leaving him twisted with rage. “That cunt fuck you over too?” he asked. 

Diego nearly reeled back. “What?” he asked, his demeanor forgotten. He’d assumed this creep was just someone who saw Klaus regularly, not anyone who he’d had such an apparently personal, and negative, connection to.

Earl spat angrily. “That little shit fucking stole from me. And after I treated him so nice too. Let him stay in my house, eat my food. Kept him nice and supplied. All he had to do was bend over from time to time⏤”

In his ranting, Earl didn’t notice the look of cold fury that was slowly forming over Diego’s face.

“ ⏤ he took it well, I’ll give him that,” Earl continued, digging his own grave, “but I can’t excuse theft, no matter how tight he was.”

Diego felt like he was going to be sick.

“I don’t know where he is now, fucker managed to get away before I could finish him off, though I gave him a good beating, fittin’ for the _bitch_ he is. But I'll tell you what,” he smirked obliviously at Diego. “You find him and let me have one last spin before you take yours, and I’d consider that my payment for all the info I’m handing out.”

Diego’s stony expression did not move as he stared at Earl.

“Like I said, he screwed me over, but he was fun to play with. Though considering how he got around, I’m sure you know that.” He smiled greasily at Diego. “Sound like a deal?”

There was a long pause as Diego considered how it was a terrible strategy to murder someone in broad daylight not ten feet from a busy sidewalk. 

He needed to wait until he wouldn’t get caught.

Diego barely kept his voice from trembling in rage as he asked one last question. He had to be sure that the image he just pieced together in his mind was correct. “When did you last see Klaus?”

Earl shrugged. “Eh, couple ‘o months back? Not since he got away. Looks like he crawled to you after, licking his wounds. When did you last see him?”

“Five weeks,” Diego muttered. The images of Klaus, so scarily thin and battered and unstable swirled through his mind. He thought of his once lively and defiant brother who now flinched at loud noises like he expected to be _hurt_. It was like someone had punched Diego in the stomach as he stared at the man he knew was responsible. 

Earl huffed a laugh. “See? Told ya. Don’t feel too bad kid, he screwed over the best of us.” Earl gave Diego a rough pat on the shoulder as he started to brush past him. “If you find him, let me know, eh? I’m looking forward to collecting my payment. You know where to find me?” Earl paused at the end of the ally, looking back at where Diego still stood, unable to move. 

“I know,” he said darkly. 

“Good,” Earl smirked, his arrogance blinding him to the chill that seemed to emanate from Diego. “See ya ‘round, kid.”

Diego watched Earl go before promptly turning to the side and hurling the contents of his stomach onto the dirty alley ground. _The thought of that man coming within a foot of Klaus. The thought of what he’d already done⏤_

Diego didn’t let himself finish imagining what had happened. He’d seen enough. He already knew. On some level, Diego had known since the first night Klaus came to his door.

Diego took several deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists as he leaned against the side of a building, his stomach still rolling. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus.

There was a murder to plan.

  
  
  
  


Earl's body was found in an alleyway near his house less than twenty-four hours later. His eyes were still open wide, forever frozen in the shock and fear of his last moments, while a large, wickedly sharp knife was stabbed so deeply through his crotch he was pinned to the ground by it. 

Thankfully for everyone involved, Earl wasn’t the type that anyone missed. His case file was quickly pushed to the bottom of a stack and forgotten about, the indifference that the justice system had for the poor and addicted working for once in the favor of good.

  
  
  


Diego’s search pressed on, but as time passed, his attention was called to other things more and more frequently as nothing turned up despite his best efforts. He still checked down alleyways as he walked the streets, and kept a careful eye out as he passed figures huddling together on cold nights, but he never caught sight of Klaus. 

Not even the morgue could offer him closure on the dark night he nearly gave up hope. 

After he walked away from the last of the coroners, assured that Klaus was at the very least still alive, Diego didn’t let himself contemplate the possibility of his death again. Reginald was a bastard, but he wouldn’t _not_ tell them if Klaus died, and he would surely know if it happened. Or at least, Diego knew Grace would tell them and he still called her sometimes just to talk. That had to mean that Klaus was out there somewhere, however perilous his situation may be.

 _If nothing else_ , Diego comforted himself by thinking, _he had removed the person who threatened Klaus the most._

He very carefully did not consider how many countless other scumbags were out there in the city, more than willing to take advantage of someone’s desperation. And if he beat the dealers and pimps he encountered a little harder than other criminals, there was no one there to call him out on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Earl talking about Klaus in a vulgar and demeaning way and sexually suggestive language. 
> 
> Murder via stabbing in the dick.
> 
> ***
> 
>   
> Diego really said "Earl had to die"  
> 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this/found it cathartic!
> 
> *For legal purposes, I do not condone stabbing anyone in the dick, even if they are a garbage human like Earl. Diego's actions are purely for literary symbolism.* 
> 
> Love as always,  
> Aye of Newt


	19. Feathers and Melted Wax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Klaus was twelve years old, he tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. 
> 
> He landed on rock bottom eleven years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end 
> 
> Hey! Exciting news:
> 
> I left this information in a comment at one point but I don't think I made an announcement like this yet. 
> 
> I can officially confirm that this fic will have a sequel!!! Yay!!! 
> 
> It still needs work/editing but I'm happy enough with its bones that I'm saying I will post it. Thankfully, it will not be anywhere near as long as this fic– it's only six chapters. 
> 
> Finally, I will hold myself accountable and say that the *ultimate goal* is for Lost in the Middle to be the first of a three part series in which the last fic takes place during season one. (The confirmed sequel obviously connects the two)
> 
> This final fic is outlined and I have a couple of scenes marked out but it is nowhere near done. We will see how that part goes lol.
> 
> But for now, we can be happy (I hope) that the second fic will exist, if you are willing to stick with me... 
> 
> Now, onto the chapter!

After leaving Diego’s apartment, Klaus freefell back into the world that he had left behind. He moved out of the radius that he expected Diego to inhabit and went back to the streets, making ends, or rather, hits, meet through his old ways of pickpocketing, charity, and the occasional paying customer. The few precious pounds that he’d managed to put on dropped away far faster than seemed fair considering how long they had taken to gain.

His ten-week reprieve with Diego was shorter by far than the years that he’d spent on his own, but it was enough to make his old life feel harsher than he’d remembered. Thankfully, Klaus hardened faster than he’d had the first time he’d ended up on the street. He managed to scrap together enough to survive and, most importantly, he had Ben again.

Ben, despite his constant complaints and threats to let Klaus figure out his own problems, remained vigilently present as he watched Klaus' back for Reginald or Earl. With one person he trusted on his side, the rest of Klaus' worries were easily enough forgotten with the right dose or drink. Within a couple of weeks, he found his place again amongst the back alleyways and ragged people, almost as if he had never left at all. 

***

Just over two months after leaving Diego’s, Klaus caught wind of a rumor that Earl was dead. What exactly was supposed to have happened to him was a mystery as the story ranged across everything from an overdose to it all being a cover-up to hide from some mobsters he owed money to. The most popular story, however, and the one that Klaus most hoped was true, was that Earl had been castrated by a hooker he'd wronged and was left there in a dirty alley to bleed out. 

As much as Klaus liked to picture the scene in all its poetic justice, he couldn't quite believe the story. It seemed unlikely that Earl would be dead and not come looking for Klaus, as it seemed all ghosts somehow knew to do. And, as much as he would have liked to confirm the rumors, there was no way in _hell_ Klaus would go looking for Earl's rotten soul. So that left him forced to take the cautious assumption that the bastard was still an alive and present threat.

Though, he reasoned, if Earl actually was executed, he may have found someone he hated more than Klaus to stalk in the afterlife. 

Klaus hoped that was the case. It would quite simply be the best possible outcome for the world as a whole. And really, no one but Klaus could even be effected by a haunting, so it wasn't like he wished harm on any brave and wonderful soul who had done them all a favor.

Sometimes, Klaus liked to imagine meeting the person who'd done Earl in. He thought he'd likely fall at their feet in awe and thanks, though he knew that they didn't do it for him. He was sure whoever did it, if Earl even was dead, acted for their own reasons. Klaus was far from the only person Earl had fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Still, as wonderful as his daydreams were, Klaus didn't quite belive that he was gone. After all, nothing in Klaus' life ever worked out so smoothly. But as time slipped past and Klaus saw no sign of Earl, he allowed that single worry to slip to the back of his mind as he eased all his troubles away with the plunge of a needle. 

***

There were some clubs that were better than others for what Klaus was looking for. He preferred the ones with back rooms with couches that were good for sleeping or fucking, depending on what he was looking for. They were safer than most things. At the very least, Klaus was less likely to get murdered in the back of a club than in a car parked in some alleyway. Of these dives, his favorite was easily Smoke because it walked the thin line between trashy enough to turn the other way while Klaus did his business, and nice enough that he didn’t have to worry about getting anything unsavory just from sitting on one of the stools by the bar. 

Klaus had been going to Smoke most nights for almost three months when, while he was talking up a decent-looking guy who Klaus was actually interested in enough to sleep with for the fun of it, he was pulled aside by a bouncer. 

“What’s the problem, officer?” he quipped, an uneasy smile straining around the edges of his mouth. 

“Boss wants to talk to you,” he explained, gruffly, dragging Klaus towards the back office by his arm. 

_Well fuck._

Klaus was deposited into a chair in a strangely normal-looking office and instructed to wait. 

He perched on the edge of his seat, his leg bouncing up and down as he looked around the office and weighed if he could get through the small basement window before _the_ _Boss_ came back. He had just resolved to make a break for it when the office door opened. Slowly, Klaus turned to look behind him. 

It was sufficient to say that the Boss was what not what Klaus was expecting. She was an absolutely normal, boring, and frankly uptight looking businesswoman in a neat pantsuit. Her hair was a sleak sliver bob for fuck’s sake. 

“Hello,” she greeted him with a nod, closing the office door behind her. 

“Hi?”

She extended her hand and Klaus shook it tentatively. The Boss smirked at him and went to sit behind her desk. She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “I’m sure you are wondering why I called you back here today.”

“On the contrary, I am often called back to the offices of women that I don’t know while minding my own business in their club. I do think it’s a bit of a universal experience.” Klaus couldn’t stop mouthing off for the life of him apparently. He winced internally. Now she was definitely going to kill him, though he was still unclear exactly what the problem was.

She smirked, continuing. “I’ve noticed you⏤ what’s your name?”

“Klaus.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Ms. Oberfeld. I’ve noticed you, Klaus. I’ve seen the _business_ that you do.”

“I’ll take it elsewhere,” Klaus started quickly, trying to get up. “No problem, ‘mam. You won’t see me here again.”

“Sit down, Klaus.”

He sat, his heart dropping. 

“I’m not here to ask you to stop.”

Klaus blinked. “You’re not?”

She smiled again and Klaus noticed how sickly dark it was. “No. I’m not.”

There was a long pause and Klaus stared at her, squinting as he tried to figure out what all the pieces added up to. “Oh,” he said finally, the world beginning to make sense again. “You’re a madam.”

She laughed. “No, Klaus, no I am not a madam. Not in the traditional sense.”

“So you’re a pimp.”

She laughed again, louder. “No, I am not a pimp. I don’t sell sex, Klaus. At least not literally. I sell a good time.”

Klaus honestly wasn’t sure where this was going anymore so he just nodded. 

“I own this club, Klaus. And I want lots of young pretty people to come and have a good time here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And young pretty people are more likely to go somewhere where other young pretty people already are.”

“I’ve noticed that yes. It is a rule that I follow myself.”

She nodded. “And sometimes, such young pretty people need a little help to have a good time.”

“Yes?” Klaus was starting to form an idea of what she was asking but there were a few blanks yet where he was unsure what exactly was being asked of him.

“So I like to have some _special_ young pretty people here to help… encourage them.”

“With sex.”

“With the _possibility_ of sex, yes. But mostly with drugs.”

“Oh.” Something in Klaus relaxed. She was looking for pushers, not hookers.

“And they are more likely to purchase if the seller is some pretty young thing.”

“Right.”

“And I’ve seen your work, Klaus. I am sure that you would be able to fill that role quite easily.”

“You are?”

“Yes, I am.” She smiled, steepling her fingers.

“What do you say? Are you interested in _partying for pay?_ ”

“So, just to clarify, you want me to come here and party every night, to attract other people to come party here?”

“Yes, I do. And, I would like you to… _endorse,_ some of our more _exclusive_ products. 

“You want me to deal.”

“I can see you’re a smart one, Klaus. Yes. I do.”

“And would any actual sex be required?”

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair casually. “Only if you want to. I promise, Klaus. No one here is going to make you sell anything other than the product. And if your customers aren’t taking no for an answer, we have bouncers here to protect you.”

Klaus considered her carefully. “What is the pay?”

“Five percent on each sale as well as a free sample every nine hours. And, if you wish, you are permitted to stay in the basement here." She smiled hungrily. "So, do we have a deal?”

He thought about it for roughly ten seconds. “Deal.”

***

Klaus excelled as a professional pretty partier as it really wasn’t much different than what he’d been doing before. A good portion of his job involved hanging around the bar, looking available and receptive to anyone who wanted to buy him a drink. Occasionally, Ms. Oberfeld would send him outside to lounge in front of the bar and pull people off the street, and once or twice she asked him to go to other clubs and find people to come back to Smoke with him. 

The pay was good too. Five percent wasn’t high, but at the inflated prices Ms. Oberfeld charged and with Klaus’ success rate it insured a comfortable stream of income. Though to be honest, Klaus would have just taken the drugs and been happy with it.

Granted, the place to live was also much appreciated. The basement wasn’t anything special, but it was dry and reasonably clean. It was semi-finished and consisted mainly of two large rooms, one with couches and chairs and an aging tv, and the other with several bunk beds. It actually reminded Klaus somewhat of the shelters that he’d stayed in before back when he didn't know Reginald still had legal claim over him.

***

Through the spring and summer, Klaus flourished as a businessman while his body withered further away. Every day, he tread an ever-thinning line between a safe high that he knew how to manage, balancing just on the edge of control, and being too sober to bear himself nor the drowning silence that filled his time between the club opening and closing.

He still kept Ben beside him, even as his lectures became more severe, because for as many people as Klaus was surrounded by while the music pounded, Ben was the only one that he was tethered to by a human connection. 

And for as much as he drove Ben insane with the endless garbage that he pumped his veins with, and scared him every time that he banished Ben away so that he could follow some man (or woman or nonbinary person– though men were always the scariest) into the darkened night, laughing and swaying unsteadily, Klaus was Ben’s one tie to life. And more than that, he was his brother. He wasn't going to abandon him.

After he went downstairs for the night, Klaus would always call out for him, his voice deflating of its sarcastic drawl and bubbly cheer as he asked the shadows in the corner, “Ben?”

There were times that Ben thought about not responding in the hope that he would eventually give up. Ben was willing to watch over Klaus in his shadow form only if it meant he stopped getting hurt all the time. But every time he considered it, Ben remembered the last time he tried that strategy and how Klaus simply dosed himself further, convinced it was him who had failed. With some level of guilt, Ben would reach back out to Klaus’ invitation and allow himself to be pulled into the middle place they could both inhabit. 

“Hey, Klaus,” he whispered. 

“Hey, Benny,” Klaus responded and the relief in his voice nearly broke Ben’s heart. 

“I’m here.”

“Good.” Klaus smiled loopily at him. “I worry about you, Benny.”

Ben didn’t say anything as he watched Klaus fall asleep, thinking only that he was already dead and Klaus was the one that should be worried about. He kept watch over him through the night, reassured only by the slow rise and fall of Klaus’ chest that he was still alive, the constant shrinking of his body slowly making him look more like a corpse than Ben did. 

Afterall, at some point over the years, the blood had faded away from his ghostly form, much like how his shirt had once become done up through Klaus’ will. Though how or when it happened exactly neither of them knew, having long ago adopted the practice of averting their eyes from his torso. Now, Ben looked like any normal sixteen year old boy, aside from the fact that only Klaus could see as much.

***

“Klaus,” Ms. O called as he ducked past her office door. It was late afternoon and the club was closed, but working there meant he was always on duty. 

He turned around and paused in the open doorway. 

Ms. O sat behind her desk in her customary pressed suit across from a man maybe a few years younger than Klaus. He had dark wavy hair that brushed the tops of his ears and a lovely brown complexion, the type of pretty boy that the boss loved to have at Smoke.

“This is Q,” she introduced, gesturing to the boy. 

He smiled, showing off a dimple.

Klaus waved. 

“He’s going to be starting here tonight,” Ms. Oberfeld explained. “I was wondering if you could show him around, Klaus. You’re my top seller after all.” She smiled in a way that implied she wasn’t asking. 

Klaus smiled. “Of course. My pleasure.”

  
  


“So what?” Q asked, raising his voice so Klaus could hear it over the pounding of the music. “Just pick the prettiest person I see and ask if they want to have some fun?”

Klaus sighed. “No. You have to be smart. Not everyone is going to be looking to buy your stuff and if you’re not careful, they’re going to think you're selling you.”

Q blinked then slowly grinned. “And what if I am?” he challenged, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Klaus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, unsure of how serious he was being. On the off-chance he meant it, Klaus warned, “Ms. O doesn’t care who you sleep with, but you can only charge for the drugs.”

“Come on, I’ve been around here enough to see how much dick⏤ and pussy⏤ you pull. You expect me to believe you’re not getting any bonuses?” Q laughed. 

“I mean, it encourages them to come back, but I don’t get any extra cash for it. It’s against the rules.”

“Why?” 

“Because it's Ms. O’s club, so her rules are law. We don't get to ask _why_. Now that you’re working for her, you can’t be running a side business in her joint.”

Klaus watched Q’s expression and saw the lingering hint of resistance there and so offered a final warning. “Look, this gig is pretty good. Don’t fuck it up⏤ no pun intended. If you think you’re going to get away with gaming the system… you’re not. I would know.” Memories of Earl’s hands around his throat suddenly made speaking difficult. He glanced around, afraid just thinking about him would make Earl appear. 

Q watched him consideringly for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he agreed. “I got ya, boss man.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that. Now, see that twink with the bottle-blonde hair? You can tell he’s new based on the purposefully shabby clothes and the nervous look in his eyes. Go help him have fun, yeah? He’s an easy target.”

Klaus forced himself to swallow the sour taste in his mouth that always seemed to rise when he lured an inexperienced party-goer in his honey trap of addiction. It made something inside of him rot to watch bright eyes and youthful health turn hollow and desperate and broken.

It remined him of Jason and how Klaus took people who had everything he never did and turned them into himself. Some days, he couldn't stand to look in the mirror. 

He watched Q flirt with the target until he leaned in and whispered something suggestively in his ear. Q pulled out a small baggie from his jacket, holding it between two fingers. He smiled too widely at his prey.

The new kid’s eyes went almost comically big and he looked quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Q laughed and placed his hand on the kids’ arm, his lips curling around a playful teasing comment. 

Klaus watched as the boy battled with himself for a few seconds before slowly nodding. Q’s triumphant smile could be seen well across the club as he led the boy to the back rooms. He glanced back at Klaus, winking cheerfully at his teacher. 

Klaus turned away to look at the clock, nearly sighing in relief when he saw the time. He was due for a hit. Klaus made his way back to the office quickly, eager to lose himself in a space where questions of morality couldn’t follow. That is, if he was permitted a big enough dose that he could stop Ben from reaching him. 

***

By the time the leaves were first beginning to turn to gold and red around the edges, Klaus had enough saved up to move out if he wanted to. His expenses over the past months had been low⏤ mostly just the occasional pack of cigarettes or new clothes. But without the threat of a figure like Earl, who alive or dead was keeping away, Klaus was uninterested in living alone. Even without any real privacy in the Smoke basement, there was something comforting about the presence of living beings around him.

He could almost pretend he wasn't alone. Qqqqqq

***

The raid came in late September. Klaus was in the back room when it happened, in the middle of post-deal fraternization with a tall tanned Adonis. It was disorienting, to say the least, the last dregs of a high still working it’s way out of him not helping. 

“Really, Officer, I swear,” Klaus protested as he was dragged out of the bar, along with at least a dozen others. “I’m not a prostitute! Anymore.” 

“Klaus, I can’t believe that I am saying this right now, but _oh my god,_ just let him think you’re a hooker.” Ben managed to look both angry and worried as he trailed behind the cop.

“Wha⏤”

“It’s going to be a much lesser charge than dealing cocaine,” Ben pointed out through clenched teeth.

 _Oh. Right_. Klaus stopped talking.

He was loaded into the back of a squad car and Klaus let his head fall back on the seat, groaning. He was totally fucked. 

Klaus didn’t need to look at Ben to feel his eyes on him. He’d seen that look of bitter disappointment too many times before. 

***

He barely slept that night, half because he was still riding out the last of the uppers he’d had earlier and half because he was waiting on the half-hope that Diego would turn up, hearing about the fabulously dressed junkie from one of his coworkers and knowing instantly that it could only be his brother. Despite how they had parted, he trusted that Diego would find him before Reginald did.

Klaus eventually passed out sometime in the early morning, only managing to get an hour of fitful rest before he was woken up by the guard pounding his nightstick on the bars of the holding cell. The rattling was impossibly loud where it crashed around in his skull.

Klaus could barely sit while he waited for his court appointment, pacing the floors of the cell until he was threatened with permanent bodily harm by one of the others in the cell if he didn’t stop. Anxiety gripped his lungs with long bony fingers as he fidgeted on the bench, his leg bouncing up and down and up and down and up and down. He scratched his arm absentmindedly, thoughts too scattered to notice that he’d broken the skin until the guard yelled at him to cut it out. Klaus watched the red droplets roll down his arm like rain on a windowpane with the same bored detachment. 

When he finally had the chance to try Diego’s cell, all Klaus got was an automated voice, telling him the number was out of use. For the first time since his arrest, Klaus nearly cried. It appeared he’d finally done enough to make Diego give up on him.

Withdrawal had begun it’s first tearing pains when Klaus was led to his arraignment, still with no sign of Diego, though his hope had all but evaporated after Klaus was unable to call him. It appeared that this time, there would be no saving grace. 

Klaus walked into the courtroom and his legs nearly buckled under him. There, sitting in the front row of the gallery, was the imposing figure that haunted Klaus’ dreams. He knew him even from the back, his father’s form seared into the back of his mind. 

He was half held up, half pushed forward by the officer who guarded him and Klaus quickly found himself before the judge, standing completely alone. He tried to keep his attention forward, but Klaus couldn’t help but glance behind him every few seconds, feeling the burn of Reginald’s eyes on the back of his neck. 

“Mr. Hargeeves,” the judge began. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“No,” Klaus managed to stutter. He thought of Gillian for the first time since his last arrest and wished for a moment that he’d had her number to call instead of Diego’s.

“Excuse me, Your Honor.” A voice came from behind Klaus and he whipped around. The man sitting beside Reginald who Klaus had previously looked over stood, straightening his jacket. “I have been hired by Mr. Hargeeves’ father to represent him.”

“Name?”

“Adam White.”

“Very well,” the judge responded, glancing down at her notes. 

“Wait!” Klaus said quickly as the lawyer came up to the table. “Can I refuse him?” he asked the judge.

The judge looked down at him in surprise. “You want to deny your right to an attorney?”

Klaus grimaced. “Can I have like a court appointed one instead?”

“Your Honor,” Mr. White interrupted, “my client does not have the ability to make that decision for himself.”

Klaus looked at him in panic and spotted Reginald over the lawyer’s shoulder, watching him with the warning look that Klaus knew too well. He swallowed. 

“Mr. White,” the judge spoke slowly, overwhelmed by the rapid upheaval of normality in her courtroom. “I am not sure what you mean by that.”

“Mr. Hargreeves is currently under the care of his father, Reginald Hargreeves, by order of a probate conservatorship. He was deemed unable to manage his own affairs due to extreme mental instability and drug dependency.” The lawyer flipped open his briefcase. “I have the paperwork here, your honor.”

“You may approach.”

The judge looked over the papers she’d been handed carefully, stealing glances up at Klaus as she did. Finally, she set them down, interlacing her fingers as she spoke. “Well, this complicates matters it appears. I will have to⏤”

“I am capable of making my own decisions,” Klaus said quickly, feeling his one chance of escape slip too quickly from his grasp. 

“Excuse me?” 

“He is lying,” Klaus pleaded. “I can make my own decision. I’ve been living on my own for years⏤"

“During which he was homeless and addicted to heroin, among other substances,” the lawyer added, placing his hand on Klaus’ arm. 

Klaus jerked away. “I am not mentally unstable⏤” Klaus justified that claim to himself with the rationale that his mental instability had more with what Reginald had done to him than anything else. “I am able to make decisions for myself! You can’t just… take my rights away.” His voice broke and Klaus realized he was shaking from more than just withdrawal. 

“Mr. Hargreeves,” the judge said. “We are not here to discuss the terms of your conservatorship. We are here because you are being charged with the intent to sell cocaine, which lends credence to the claims laid out by these forms.” She indicated the papers on her desk. 

“Yes, Your Honor,” the lawyer thanked her. “Sir Hargeeves has hired me because he recognizes the serious nature of these charges and wishes to show the court his concern. However, he does believe that, given the nature of Klaus’ condition, it would be best if he were to be released into his care. Sir Hargeeves is determined to help his son heal and has prepared arrangements with some very qualified addiction specialists.”

Klaus felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Mr. White,” the judge responded. “I cannot simply ignore the law.”

“I would never ask you to, Your Honor. I merely ask for a sentence of rehabilitation. As Mr. Hargreeves is not capable of taking care of himself, he is not able to process the severity of his actions. He needs help, Your Honor, not further damage caused by institutionalization in a system that is not designed for people in his condition. His father has the resources to give Klaus what he needs. It would be in the best interest of him to be released into that care.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Klaus interrupted again, managing to regain some control over his panic. 

“Mr. Hargeeves,” the lawyer warned quietly. 

Klaus ignored him. “Your Honor, it would not be in my best interest to return… there.” Klaus couldn’t even bring himself to say ‘home’. “Besides,” he challenged, “isn’t anyone curious how, if my father is apparently such a good and competent caregiver, I was, as _my lawyer”_ Klaus spat the term, “stated, homeless for several years? Does that not call the quality of his guardianship into question?”

The judge paused and seemed to consider that for a moment. 

“Your Honor,” Mr. White’s pleasant smile had begun to look rather strained. “Mr. Hargreeves has indeed been wandering by himself for a few years, but Sir Hargreeves has been exhaustive in his efforts to locate his son. He was only granted the conservatorship after Klaus first ran away from his care when Sir Hargreeves attempted to get Klaus help for his drug use and depression⏤”

“That is _not_ ⏤”

The lawyer didn't let him speak. “It is hardly his fault that the hospital Klaus was in did not adequately protect him from himself. Sir Hareeves’ only crime was trusting an institution that failed to do its job. So I am sure you can understand why he is now reluctant to put his faith in another facility, and would like Klaus to be released into his care. He really only has the best intentions at heart.”

“Your Honor,” Klaus tried again. “My father is the only reason why I even⏤”

“Mr. Hargreeves,” the judge warned, “Please refrain from speaking out of turn.”

“But Your Honor I have not been given a turn because _this asshole_ ⏤” he jerked his tumb at the man standing next to him.

“Mr. Hargreeves!” the judge shouted. “Keep yourself in line! Mr. White, control your client.”

“Forgive me, Judge.” The lawyer said, again placing his hand on Klaus, pinning his wrist to the table. “As you are aware, he is mentally unstable. I apologize for the outburst, however.” 

The judge nodded. “Thank you. From what I have seen, it does appear that Mr. Hargreeves has very poor decision making skills.” She looked down her nose at him cooly. “However, I am not convinced that he is as unaware of those decisions as you claim.”

For the first time, hope stirred inside of Klaus. 

“How is Mr. Hargreeves any different from every other addict and dealer I’ve seen in this court?” the judge asked.

“He has been determined by a court of law to be unable to make rational decisions, Your Honor. This is due not only to his drug use, but to unrelated mental health issues as well. Klaus has a history of self-harm and suicidal intention⏤”

“That’s a lie!”

“Order,” the judge cautioned.

“As you can see, Judge, Klaus Hargreeves is unfit to stand trial. While it may seem unorthodox, I implore that you might grant him the help he needs rather than a punishment that would only serve to harm him more.”

The judge nodded slowly. 

“Mr. Hargreeves,” she said, finally looking at Klaus. “You have been very vocal throughout this process,”

Klaus blushed.

“And I can see that you have strong feelings. I will give you an opportunity to speak. Please limit yourself to only answering the questions I ask or else I will rule immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Klaus said breathlessly, determined not to let his only chance go. 

“Do you understand the proceeds that have happened today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain what we have discussed today back to me?”

“I was arrested for possession with intent to sell,” Klaus explained calmly. “My father,” he stole a glance at Reginald, who looked murderous, “hired a lawyer to defend me. He claims that I am unable to make decisions for myself so instead of being tried I should go home with him.”

“Very good,” the judge nodded, a considering expression on her face. “And you do not agree?”

“No!” Klaus said emphatically. “I don’t. I know that I am doing, Judge. I can think for myself and I have never tried to kill myself⏤ that’s completly made up.” _Trips to the Beyond didn’t really count,_ Klaus reasoned. _He never stayed._

“You are aware of the consequences of your actions?” the judge asked.

“Yes.”

“You understand what it means to have been arrested?”

“Yes. I could…” Klaus hesitated, “be sent to prison.”

“You know what that means?”

“Yes.”

“Did you understand what could happen to you when you engaged in the use and sale of illegal substances?”

“Yes.”

“It appears to me,” the judge said, sitting back in her chair, “that the defendant is aware of what is happening and made the decision to act illegally in full awareness of the possible ramifications. Now, I am not under the authority to make a ruling as to the legitimacy of this conservatorship at the moment, however, I do call into question if it is genuinely needed. I find that _mental health_ ,” her lips curled around the words, “is often no excuse for one’s actions. Claiming one is unfit to stand trial is a pathetic excuse to escape judgement. To me, this appears to be the attempts of an influential and wealthy man to spare himself embarrassment of a conviction in the family. Though I do appreciate _your_ honesty, Mr. Hargreeves.”

She glanced at Klaus, whose heart was pounding in a bizarre mixture of hope and fear and mild concern over her apparent belief that mental health didn’t exist.

The judge continued, “Therefore, I deny your request, Mr. White. Mr. Hargreeves, how do you wish to plead to the charge of possession?”

Klaus knew that at this point there was no other option, not that ever expected to get out of this one. “Guilty.”

She nodded. “Because of your honesty, I will be lenient Mr. Hargreeves. I sentence you to eighteen months in federal prison for possession with the intent to sell. At the end of this term, your conservatorship shall be re-evaluated to determine if it is indeed necessary.” She banged the gavel. “We're done here.”

Klaus took a moment to slump in relief. He wasn’t going back to that house. Klaus looked back to his father just in time to see him turn aggressively on his heel and storm from the courtroom. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t felt the satisfaction of defeating Reginald since he first left the Academy. 

The next moment it occurred to Klaus what that “victory” meant. 

He was going to prison. The only thought he could congure in regards to that was very simply, _Fuck._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Background implication of/references to prostitution 
> 
> Reference to last chapter  
> ****
> 
> Welcome to rock bottom. 
> 
> Bad news... everything that just happened 
> 
> *small spoiler* Good news, this means that the only way to go from here is up. It's going to take a while, and Klaus is going to be stuck at rock bottom for a little bit, BUT THEN, he's going to start climbing back up again. And it's coming sooner than later.  
> YAY!
> 
> I also may have played a wee bit fast and loose with how the legal system works. But in my defense, there is very little information online about what would happen if a conservatee like Klaus was arrested. Most of the legal stuff I could find about conservatorship dealt with old people being abused. So I did my best and bent what I wanted to fit the story. If there are any lawyers out there... let me know how I did?
> 
> And as always, thank you. And please comment! I live for comments.
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


	20. Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is, as always, his own worst enemy.
> 
> Or at least, his mind is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> Hello! This is the chapter where we break 100,000 words!
> 
> ....that's insane... 
> 
> Thank you so much for caring enough to read this much of my bs!?!?!??!?

Klaus spent the next week in a detox tank. It reeked of piss and vomit and shit and sweat, eight men cramped into the dank cell, sharing one abused toilet while they excreted poison from what seemed like every pore of their bodies. 

The days blurred into each other, Klaus completely unable to track the passage of time. The lights were never really fully turned off and without windows, it became impossible to tell the difference between night and day. The pain was worse than anything Klaus could ever remember, worse even than the times Reginald had used withdrawal as punishment. Those stretches had ended after a couple of days at most. This was never-ending. The only thing that came close was the shock that he’d once gotten when Five had let the circuit of an electric fence they were climbing over close while Klaus was still holding onto it. It had been excruciating, but it had ended quickly. The pain of withdrawal stretched endlessly and was so encompassing that Klaus struggled to remember a time before. 

He wasn’t able to find the strength to stand more than once a day, managing at most to roll out of bed and crawl to the toilet when he needed it. The only scrap of humanity that he clung to was his ability to make it there. There were others who were not able to do so. They lay in their own filth until one of their kinder cellmates who was towards the end of their own detox took pity and attempted to clean them up with the meager supplies provided. The guards did nothing but make cruel comments about how they found their prisoners disgusting and their tears pathetic.

  
  
  


October first came four days into his imprisonment. Klaus didn’t realize it was their birthday, lost in the haze of pain, and unable to hear Ben sing quietly to him in shaking breaths.

_Happy Birthday to us,_

_Happy Birthday to us,_

_Happy Birthday to Klaus⏤_

The response was never called and Ben felt horribly, disgustingly guilty for the split second that he wished Klaus could see him, consequences be damned. 

  
  
  


Being unable to find strength enough to change his own sheets, Klaus spent most of his stay in detox on the same sweat-stained linens, though he was unable to distinguish the rank smell of them from the rest of the cell. A micro blessing, as Klaus called it in his moments of clarity. Thankfully, as his symptoms finally, gradually, diminished, Klaus was able to pull himself together enough to feel somewhat human for his transfer. 

In the words of the _honorable_ Officer Renalds who escorted him to his cell; strung-out, underweight hookers ⏤ he didn’t seem to listen to Klaus’ instance on adding “former” to that title⏤ weren’t seen as a serious threat to anyone but themselves, and were more of an eyesore to the rest of society than anything. He explained that Klaus would be spending the majority of his time in a minimum-security facility but due to overcrowding, he would be placed in a higher-level block for the time being.

As he was led through the hallways, Klaus caught sight of himself in the reflection of a window. His hair was an absolute rat’s nest, overgrown and shaggy in a way that was far less than fashionable. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd washed or brushed it. It was also clearly uneven, a mark of how his last haircut, by then months ago, had been the result of a manic high and overconfidence that led Klaus to believe he could do it himself. The garish orange of the jumpsuit made him look even paler, his skin waxen and all but translucent where it stretched too tightly over his bones. The details of his skull could be seen easily, not a trace of fat left to soften the harsh lines of his cheeks. He looked old. Withered. None of his makeup remained on him after the week he’d spent detoxing, but his eyes were still stained black and purple where they were sunken back into his head. 

He looked pathetic.

Disgusting.

Like _nothing._

As he was pushed forward, Klaus thought to himself with a dark understanding, _No wonder Diego didn’t come._

***

Klaus slumped back against the hall and hoped that the dark mist that curled around his shoulders was Ben. He stared at it, trying to focus, willing the smoke to rearrange itself into the solid figure of his brother. It swirled lazily, but otherwise, the shadow did nothing. He sighed, banging his head back softly against the wall with soft _thunks_ just for something to do. 

“Hey, kid, shut it,” his cellmate, Big Bad Baldy as Klaus liked to think of him, grunted from the bunk below, his cot groaning with the man’s not inconsiderable bulk as he shifted into a more comfortable position. 

If Ben were there, he would warn Klaus not to mouth off. But Ben was not there. Or if he was, he wasn’t talking. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Klaus replied, kicking his legs lazily where they hung over the edge of the bed. 

“Watch your attitude, you little shit,” warned Baldy.

“What attitude? I am simply stating the simple fact that⏤”

Klaus’ response was cut off as B3, Klaus’ nickname for the nickname he’d given his roommate, grabbed his ankle and _pulled_. 

With a high yelp and a painful crash, Klaus found himself on the floor, his head, ass, and elbow aching. He was dazed for a moment, but when the foot made contact with his ribs something deep and angry in Klaus clicked into place and eighteen years of training ignited his body into motion. 

_Not fucking again,_ was Klaus’ last clear thought. 

When the guards showed up, they dragged Klaus off of Baldy, who he’d finally managed to pin. Baldy’s nose was splintered and bloody. He looked utterly confused, if not slightly scared, as he sat cradling his broken fingers in his undamaged hand, answering the guard’s questions in a daze that may or may not have been entirely the result of the hit his head had taken when Klaus swept the man’s feet out from under him. 

The left side of Klaus’ own face was stained red from a split across his temple. He spat blood and wasn’t sure if that was from a separate injury or if the stuff from his forehead had managed to work its way in there. Either way, the taste of it soaked his tongue with bitter taste of childhood. 

***

After being given sparse medical treatment, Klaus was sent to “cool off” in a room that looked more like it belonged in a horror movie asylum than real life. 

Klaus was horribly, emptily sober as he stared at the blank gray walls of the cell around him, completely alone and unable to summon so much as a whisper of a spirit’s voice. But the memories of the Crypt still sent the shadows that gathered in the corners of the room, too many of them to be just Ben, swirling into photocopies of the past. Reality and memory bled until he couldn't tell what was illusion or fact, the soft cries of those in the cells next to him mixing with the wails of the dead he failed to help. 

Klaus wrapped himself up as tightly as he could and whispered desperate assurances to himself that he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t in the Academy.

Reginald couldn’t touch him. 

The terrible cosmic joke of it all was that he was right. He wasn’t in the Crypt, strapped down and forced to use the power he hated. He was totally clean, and there was no coming down from a high that would send the memories haunting Klaus dissipating into nothingness. There was no relief from the nightmare. 

Klaus screamed until his throat collapsed. 

In his new hell, Grace wasn’t there to stroke his hair as he heaved long after his stomach was emptied.

***

Klaus returned from his brief stint in solitary a bit too shaky to notice the stares of fear and hesitant respect he received from the other inmates as he was led back to his cell. 

***

It took him some time to come back to the present, but by the time a man with twice Klaus’ bulk had given up his seat for Klaus at lunch on the fourth day after his confinement ended, Klaus was aware enough to realize how strange the exchange was. Waking up to the world around him, Klaus noticed the wide breath the others were giving him, watching his motions with an odd mixture of intimation and wary confusion. 

It was not until he was in the library, and Klaus asked a boy if he could see what he was reading, that Klaus realized the extent of the reputation he had gained. The boy, who looked approximately old enough to be going into his freshman year of high school and stood a full head shorter than Klaus, had all but shrieked and flung the book at him so fast it hit Klaus in the stomach, knocking the air out of him for a moment. After staring in horror at Klaus, who was doubled over and coughing, the kid had then proceeded to fall over himself apologizing, looking like he might actually cry. 

Wheezing and slightly confused, Klaus assured the poor kid that he wasn’t mad and knew it was an accident. Still looking like he might crap his pants, the kid had stuttered a thank you and practically ran in the opposite direction, casting quick glances over his shoulder as he went. 

After that, Klaus began tuning in to the whispers that followed him.

_Fucking maniac._

_Freaky as fuck._

_He looks skinny as hell, but he took out a guy at least twice his size._

He felt eyes on him everywhere, making the back of his neck prickle and tension run across his shoulders. The world seemed to slide past him, skirting around the edge of his space, while Klaus’ apparent status as a fighter was analyzed and he was evaluated. His new roommate⏤ someone had evidently decided it would be a bad idea to keep him and Baldy together⏤ didn’t seem especially concerned that Klaus was going to attack him, but he still gave Klaus the same wary space as everyone else did. Or at least he didn’t tell Klaus to shut up.

Not that Klaus was doing much talking. No, even after his throat healed from his panic attack, Klaus remained quiet. It was harder to be _Klaus,_ the ridiculous, dramatic, loveable idiot, when all of his armor had been removed. His illusion was shattered and discarded, left somewhere between Earl's bed and the floor of his cell in solitary. And, quite simply, there was no one left to pretend for. He couldn't even convince himself. 

Klaus hadn’t exactly had friends before Baldy had started the fight, but after, he went from being ignored out of indifference to being avoided out of apprehension. He wasn’t sure which was lonelier. Though to be fair, being labeled as an unstable martial arts master _did_ tend to inspire people to acts of generosity and politeness they might not otherwise offer. He never had trouble finding someone to loan him a cigarette for one thing. 

***

Unfortunately, Klaus’ time away in solitary gave Baldy plenty of time to recover and get very, very angry. When he was released back into gen pop, Klaus’ status as a maniac that was not to be messed with lasted for just over two weeks before B3 and his friends, who were just as angry and at least as big as their leader, cornered Klaus and paid retribution. 

Lying crumpled on his back, Klaus stared up at the mist that hung over him with unfocused eyes. Blood from his nose trickled down into his mouth and Klaus coughed, choking as he tried to breathe through the thick iron slime that coated his throat and clogged his airway. 

_Klaus, turn over! You need to get on your side._

The urgent instructions that echoed dimly in Klaus’ mind sounded more like Ben’s voice than his own and Klaus frowned, the bruised and cut skin of his face pulling painfully. He sounded scared. Klaus hated when Ben sounded scared, especially because most of the time it was Klaus’ fault. He always felt guilty when he made Ben scared. Klaus coughed again, gagging. 

_Klaus, you have to move!_ He could have sworn that Ben was shouting from just next to him. 

Slowly, he forced one leg, the part of him that hurt the least, to pull across his body. Hissing sharply, he let his shoulder follow, tipping over to lie on his side. He coughed again and a viscous red liquid dripped down his chin, slattering against the dingy floor, made of blood and spit and who knows what else. The tile dug into his hip and shoulder painfully, but turning over had exhausted him, and Klaus had nothing left to try and move into a more comfortable position. 

_Good, Klaus. You did good._ Ben’s voice whispered. Klaus’s shadow spilled in front of him, stretched too long and shaped just slightly wrong, moving on its apparent own volition.

As the lights around him dimmed, the shadow of the spirits bleeding into the dark of unconsciousness, Klaus wondered vaguely if it was a bad thing that he’d begun to encourage himself in the third person, or in the imagined-voice-of-his-dead-brother person. He fell to darkness before he reached the answer. 

***

Someone found him eventually, though he didn't know who, as Klaus was still unconscious when he was taken to the medical wing and no one seemed interested in answering his slurred, confused questions when he finally woke up. 

Instead, Klaus was sent back to his cell with a few band-aids and a warning to stay out of trouble. As he was led through the hallways, Klaus caught the eye of Baldy from behind the bars of his own room. 

He gave Klaus a smile he knew well from the men he'd encountered in the past, all of them cruel and unstable and _entitled_ in some way. It was the look of someone who had only just begun his fun. 

***

At first, Klaus had been afraid that Reginald would come to visit him. He knew where Klaus was now, after all, and had to be dying to reprimand him and remind him of how terribly he'd failed on his own. Still, weeks passed without a sign of Reginald or so much as a letter. Klaus was left in a purgatory of silence, unsure when the floor would drop out from under him. 

Eventually, Klaus came to the conclusion that his absence was strategic, just like all things with his father were. Reginald had played that trick many times when they were children. He let them get good and scared in a situation so that they might learn their lesson before he came to save them from whatever he deemed too grievous an injury. (Which was usually only death or loss of limb.) The way he reasoned it, Klaus was simply still in the punishment phase of his “lesson” about trying to run away. 

The only odd thing that didn’t quite fit in Klaus’ understanding of the situation was that someone consistently provided a meager allowance in his commissary. His best guess was that it was meant to be some form of a message from Reginald, flaunting his control and power, giving Klaus just a taste of compassion so he would come crawling back for love that would never come. Sure, money was a strange choice in how to threaten Klaus, but he supposed it wasn’t too different than strategies that Reginald had used before, and regardless, the things that his father did rarely made sense to Klaus. Reggie simply wasn’t a rational man. 

He hated using it, but fuck did he really need to smoke. And also buy, like, hygiene items. Klaus forced himself to take the money by telling himself he’d done worse things for cash that compromise his integrity. He wasn't even sure he _had_ integrity anymore.

As much as it weighed on him, still, some part of Klaus wondered if Reginald was losing his touch. Despite how awful his current situation was, Klaus would still choose his cell over Reginald’s mansion. Even on the worst days, when he was picking himself off the floor of the bathroom where he had yet again been left bloody and bruised, Klaus could still keep himself from the edge of despair by remembering the alternative to his sentence. He limped away from the carnage, greatful. 

He wondered what Ben would think about all of it. Klaus almost turned to ask him before remembering with an ache that it would be months before he would be able to see Ben again. 

Because whether or not he was doing back to the fiery pits of hell or just a nice warm dumpster, Klaus had absolutely no intention of staying sober for longer than twenty-four hours after he got released.

***

Between episodes of violence, prison was mostly just incredibly boring. Endless hours stretched each day between waking up and going to sleep, with nothing to fill them but Klaus’ own thoughts, something he had wished to avoid since he was twelve and first understood how dark one’s own mind could be. 

He clung onto what he could, scouring the library during his limited free time for anything to chase the shadows away and keep his brain occupied with something other than the contemplation of his life or a slideshow of his worst memories. He did his best to cling to his trusted method of dealing with life and pushed the pain and fear as far down as they would go, keeping them pinned under jokes and showmanship. But something about the cold indifference and soulless expanse of imprisonment made it harder for him to quip and snark and laugh at his own misfortune. Maybe it was the lack of drugs or alcohol that would allow him to blackout and take a break from it all.

Klaus, almost without realizing it, shrank back into the shell he used towards the end of his life in the Academy, keeping his head down and slinking quietly as he could between the few places he go. He faded into the shadows with the ghosts and wished he was as invisible to the rest of the world as they were. 

Klaus kept the tiny mercies he was granted close, coveting the few items of food the cafeteria served that were eatable and the tiny amount of possessions he was able to keep, even if they were just clean socks. Most important of all, and the only time Klaus felt anything close to happiness, was the one precious hour every day he was allowed outside. It seemed like that was the only time he could really breathe. For the other twenty-three hours, he was caged, the monotonous gray walls of the prison sucking out every shred of life it could, the endless sensation of being trapped sitting on his chest and slowly crushing the air out of him. 

Even in the worst of times with Jason or Earl, Klaus hadn’t experienced such a sense of overwhelming confinement since his days at the Academy. Even if they beat him, they let him out, if only to whore or run an errand to please them. He had been permitted a window in his room, even if the cracked glass let cold winter air through. He had felt more human as their toy than he did when he was the property of the state. 

It didn’t help that each cell and locked door sent memories of the Crypt flashing against the back of Klaus’ eyes. Since his escape when he was eighteen, Klaus had spent large amounts of time outside⏤ a side effect of homelessness, funnily enough. To him, outside was synonymous with freedom, and had been since he and his siblings first snuck out together as young children. Perhaps beyond anything else, it was that loss that Klaus felt the most, even more so than this right to property or self-expression, two things which he had once fought tooth and nail for. To have his right to go outside taken away was an unending reminder that he was stuck, and an ominous foreshadowing of what could still be waiting for him when his sentence was finally up, should a judge see fit to return him to Reginald’s so-called _care._

The hour outside was also the only time of day Klaus was allowed the smoke, the one vestige of his former life he was able to cling to. In those stolen moments, the weight of the cigarette in his hand was familiar and comforting, and the tiny buzz of the nicotine a balm on his frayed nerves. Though no matter how many cigarettes he managed to suck down, he never seemed to get enough in him to summon Ben. He was instead left with a slight cough and his wound of isolation ripped open again.

He tried not to be foolishly jealous as he watched the gangs huddle together in the yard while he very carefully did not think about how, for the very first time in his entire life, Klaus was actually, truly alone. 

***

Of all his physical possessions, the thing that Klaus missed most was his bracelets. He hated staring at the thin white scars that ran across and around his wrists and had avoided them for much of the last ten or so years, going so far as to avert his own eyes when he showered and shuttering every time he was forced to run his hand over the faint ridges as he washed himself. The scars were ugly and twisted and having to look at them made his arms feel heavier when they were bare than while covered in jewelry. When he saw them, he could still feel the straps tying him down and it made his stomach turn and his heart race. Klaus had once walked six blocks in lingerie that threatened to slip with every step and hadn't felt a care in the world. But not even in the days before things went wrong with Jason did Klaus consider going more than five necessary minutes without his bands and bangles. To do so would leave him naked. Vulnerable. 

In prison, he wasn't permitted anything to cover them. Instead, Klaus just tried to keep his sleeves down at all costs, even when it left him uncomfortably hot at times. 

Klaus wasn't sure how often people noticed his arms, he assumed it had to be somewhat frequent in the showers or when his wrists were being pinned down so some goon twice his size could pummel his face, but they were only directly addressed once.

Finding a place to sit during meals had become difficult for Klaus as most people too afraid of Baldy's posse to be seen with him. On that day, having run out of options, Klaus approached a lonely table in the corner where a man he recognized as one of the "loons" sat. Klaus didn't really know anything about him, other than he was obviously in need of help he wasn't getting, but he seemed harmless. He was just sick and ignored by everyone because of it. _And hey,_ Klaus rationalized, _so what if he talked to himself?_ Klaus had given off that impression hundreds of times over the years while he chatted away with Ben while walking down the street. Who was Klaus to judge? For all he knew, the crazy guy saw dead people too. 

As he drew nearer, Klaus examined the man more closely, just to be sure it was safe to request to sit with him. The other inmate was rail thin and it was near impossible to guess how old he was, though he had the look of someone who was prematurely aged by an unfairly hard life. His wide pale eyes were wild and a little too vacant as he muttered and rocked himself, glancing rapidly round the room and tracking the movements of everyone he could. He scratched absently at his arms. Klaus wondered if he was craving. He'd caught himself doing the same too many times to count. The man didn't appear to be very aware of what was actually happen, but when Klaus sat down, his attention immediately snapped to the newcomer and then down at the tray resting only a foot or so from his own. 

Klaus tensed and was about to apologize when the man whipped his arm out and snatched Klaus' wrist. The motion was sudden but surprisingly gentle as he cradled Klaus' hand in his own. Klaus froze, unused to being touched in any way that was not painful.

The man turned Klaus' palm over carefully and pushed up the cuff of his sleeve to better see the marks that lay there.

Klaus nearly jumped out of his skin, jerking back as if burned 

The man looked up at him, his eyes much clearer than they'd been just moments before. Instead of lost, he looked almost sad. Slowly, he extended his own wrist, pulling back his sleeve so Klaus could see the rows and rows of scars there, torn into his flesh by some imprecise instrument, leaving the marks ragged and pitted. They were all clearly self-inflicted. 

Klaus thought of the scratching from a minute earlier with a newly sickened understanding. 

Slowly, Klaus met the intense gaze his table-mate still had him under, searching him with the same sad knowing that the inmate had had when he saw Klaus' scars. The man nodded slowly as if to say, "We understand each other."

Klaus didn't have the heart to tell him the truth and just let the man go back to his muttering and rocking. They didn't speak so much as once after that, Klaus never even learned his name, but they sat together at mealtimes, two crazy people who understood what it meant to hurt and who were willing to put up with each other's peculiarities.

He was the closest thing Klaus had to a friend.

***

“Fighting again?” the medic asked, sighing in disapproval as he taped Klaus’ forehead back together. “That makes, what, six times I’ve seen you in here now?”

Klaus grimaced and said nothing, twitching as light touches sent shocks of pain across his face. The past few months had been… rough. He’d learned quickly not to try and get anyone involved in his problems. 

The medic signed again, tossing his gloves into the trash. “My job is to patch you up, not to keep you from getting sent here in the first place. _But,_ if you ask me, unless you’re looking to die, I’d stay away from the boxing ring.” He looked at Klaus, hunched stiff and awkward on the examination table, one hand curled protectively around his battered ribs and the other keeping him propped into the resemblance of a seated position. “Seriously, kid, take it from me. I’ve been around here for a while and I know what I’m talking about. After so many fights like the ones you’ve been in, people start leaving this office in a bag. Understand?”

“Thanks,” Klaus said dryly, “I had no idea that getting into prison fights was so dangerous. I will surely remember not to engage the next time I get jumped, perhaps remind the lovely group of men attempting to rearrange my skeletal structure of the power of talking about our feelings.” He rolled his eyes, scooting forward painfully. “So am I good to go or what?”

The medic looked him over again, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, his dark eyebrows low and heavy. “So you got jumped? Any chance you’d want to make a formal report?”

Klaus would have hit himself for his stupidity if someone, or more accurately several someones, hadn’t already done so. “Who said anything about being jumped?” He blinked wide and innocent at the medic, as if the man had just pulled an assumption out of thin air.

“Yeah, I thought as much,” he muttered, glancing towards the fluorescent lights as if they might have the answers to solving inter-inmate violence. He looked back to Klaus, looking tired and old. “Is there anything else I need to look at today? Any other injuries?” His eyes flicked down.

Klaus blinked at him, for once the more uncomfortable person in the room. “No. No, there’s not.”

The medic gave him one more glance over and met Klaus’ eyes for a long pause, searching. Finally, he said, “Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll request to see you back in a few days to check on your head and ribs. If something feels wrong, like you’re dizzy or nauseous or you can’t breath, notify someone immediately.” He flipped his file closed and tucked it away before turning back to Klaus. “And try to avoid getting into any more trouble before I see you next.” He extended a hand to help Klaus down from the exam table and he hurt enough to accept it. 

“I’ve been known to break promises, Doc, so I won’t pretend I can guarantee you that.” Klaus’ grin was made less convincing by the tightness of pain that traced around his eyes, and the black of bruises that ran molted and dark around his temple and across his cheekbones. The stab of pain that shot through his nose at the movement made him drop the attempted smile too quickly and the playfulness of his comment was lost to grim reality. 

The medic looked back at him and didn’t attempt to smile.

***

“Do you know why I called you into my office today, Mr. Hargreeves?” Warden Daniels peered over the desk at Klaus, who sat rumpled and awkward in the chair across from him, hunched to one side as he leaned into his throbbing side.

“You wanted to give me an award for being a model prisoner?” Klaus asked, smiling innocently. 

The warden scowled. “You might want to rethink that attitude. This meeting is in regards to your transfer⏤ or lack thereof.”

The smirk slid off of Klaus’ face. “Lack of?”

“As you may remember, Mr. Hargreeves, you were originally placed under my jurisdiction as a temporary measure. You were originally supposed to be transferred to minimum security as soon as space opened up, however, I am no longer sure that that is a good idea.”

“You’re not?” Klaus' voice cracked, his eyes widening.

“No, I’m not. Considering the… _trouble,_ that you’ve been seeming to get yourself into on a regular basis, I am not sure that minimum security is suitable for a prisoner of your standing.”

“Sir, I’m⏤”

“And for that matter, I’m beginning to think that this medium security facility is no longer appropriate as well. Should things continue at this rate, I think I may be recommending you transfer up in security.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You are posing a threat to the safety of everyone else in this prison⏤”

“How?” Klaus was vaguely aware that it might not be a good idea to mouth off to the man threatening to send him to max, but he was never one for rational self-preservation. “How exactly am I posing a _threat_ to anyone? Besides the first… _incident,_ which as I have previously explained, was self-defense, I have not laid one single finger on anyone. The biggest _threat_ of bodily harm I pose is that someone might break a knuckle on my face while they’re pounding it into the floor. If anyone’s safety is in danger, it’s _mine_.”

Daniels looked unimpressed. “Do you have anyway to prove these claims?”

“Do I⏤ ? Have you seen anyone else walking around looking like a finger painting?” Klaus gestured to his own face, splattered in bruises at every stage of healing and color, his own hands rather lacking in tell-tale signs of a fair fight.

“I saw what you did to your cellmate⏤”

“In self-defense!”

“Do not interrupt me!” the warden snapped, warning, before he continued, “I find that claim highly questionable, as you did not seem to have as much damage done to your person which seems to imply⏤”

“Because I defended myself!”

“INTERRUPT ME AGAIN AND I WILL THROW YOUR ASS IN SOLITARY UNTIL YOU LEARN THE MEANING OF REGRET!”

Klaus clamped his jaw shut.

The warden relaxed, looking down at Klaus with oily consideration. “Better. Now, Mr. Hargreeves, as I was trying to tell you, I will be reviewing your case to determine what form of transfer would be best under the circumstances. I will, of course, be taking this conversation into consideration.” The warden smiled at Klaus, ugly and mean. 

“Of course,” Klaus replied, going deadly calm as he slowly smiled back, memories of the long and achingly dull lessons on the American legal system that Reginald had forced the Academy to sit through stirring somewhere deep in the back of his mind. “But, I would also propose that you take into consideration the guidelines that are set by the Security Classification Committee, which dictate that a prisoner's safety is to be considered when determining the conditions of a transfer. And, I would like to ever so politely remind you, _Sir,_ that, as shown by the documented evidence that is on file, I have obtained numerous serious injuries during my time here, with no clear explanation as to why or how. 

“True,” he held up a finger, silencing the warden, “I did get into one _small, tinsy-winsy_ fight some time ago, BUT⏤ none of the injuries that I have sustained after that have been proven to have come from actual fighting, or at least, from fights that I purposely started or engaged in. And, based on a lack of correlated injuries on other inmates, it can be assumed that I am not in fact _fighting,_ but am the victim of some form of inter-inmate violence. 

“Of course, as you know, such victimization is, according to the SCC, a valid reason to approve a transfer to another unit, security level, or even facility. And, considering that I have not actually been written up for anything beyond one act of self-defense⏤ which was substantiated as such by several witnesses at the time of the incident, I would think that the Committee would approve my transfer to occur as planned, if not sooner under the circumstances.” He folded his hands neatly, feeling very pleased with himself as he smiled pleasantly up at the warden. He imagined Ben cheering behind him at his brilliant usage of scholarship.

Fuck he missed Ben. Though he didn’t suppose Ben would be happy enough about Klaus’ smarts to resist yelling at him for using the next time they did see each other. Maybe if it was Reginald who shot him up he would be nicer about it... Klaus only entertained the thought of now nice that would be for point zero two seconds before remembering how bad things would get if he got sent back to the Academy.

He forced himself to pay attention to the present again.

The warden looked at Klaus in surprise before anger clouded his face. “Are you undermining my authority?”

“No, Sir! I would _never."_ Klaus had never been so grateful as to have been bored enough to haunt the prison library, and, Little Girl help him, do _research._ “I _would_ , however, remind you of the reputation that this prison has earned over the past few years for its tendency to… uh, _lose,_ inmates under mysterious circumstances. No to mention the current ongoing investigation into the safety measures that are in place here. If the papers are to be believed, there are serious questions as to whether you specifically are competent, leaving the security of your job hanging by a thread. 

“I would think that the last thing you need right now is for the media to get wind of a potential PLRA violation. You know, the Prisoner Legislation Reform Act? As in, the set of standards that all prisons in the United States are required to follow? The legislation that, among other things, clearly states that all prisoners are entitled to protection should it become necessary? And, should that not be enough, a claim that your prison is in violation of the Eighth Amendment? I’m sure your conservative supporters would be _thrilled_ to hear that you don’t love and respect the Constitution, the very bedrock upon which our fine nation is founded.”

“You would never win that case.” 

Klaus didn’t miss the hint of unease in the warden’s voice as he tried to deny Klaus’ words. He struggled to restrain his delight as he moved in for the kill. 

“It wouldn’t make a difference to you if I won or not⏤ as long as it got people talking. You should know as well as I do that what really happened doesn’t matter, just what people _believed_ happened. Your reputation is walking a tightrope as it is, all it would take is one little _push_ , and you’re falling to your ruin.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yep. And it’s going to work.” Klaus grinned at him, sharp and triumphant. He leaned back smugly, a twitch in the corner of his mouth the only thing indicating just how painful the chair digging into his tender skin was. 

***

Less than seventy-two hours later, Klaus was approved to transfer to a low-security facility nearly an hour away. He left with a saucy wink to his tormentors as he was led past their cells, waving jauntily as he went. The warden watched as he was led outside and Klaus made a dramatic show of pretending to lock his lips with an invisible key. With a small twitch of his eye, the warden nodded to Klaus to begrudgingly acknowledge their deal before turning and stalking back inside, leaving Klaus more than happy to see the back of him. 

The drive was mostly quiet and Klaus took advantage of his rare trip into the outside world to drink the scenery in desperately, the tips of his fingers pressed against the glass of the window as for another countless time in his life freedom was dangled before him, just out of reach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: bodily fluids and withdrawal
> 
> TW: violence/aftermath of violence  
> *As part of this someone asks (in a very indirect, very brief, if you're not paying attention you will miss it way) if a sexual assault has occurred. The answer is no. 
> 
> TW: mention of scars including those that come from self-harm (not Klaus)
> 
> ****
> 
> Hey.  
> Remember last chapter when I was like "idk I make the law now pretend this is how it works"?  
> Well for this chapter I went down a very long strange rabbit hole of...  
> 'What happens when you're going through withdrawal in jail?"  
> And  
> 'How does prison transfer work?'  
> And  
> 'What happens if someone is being hurt by another inmate?'  
> Like, who would have thought having a character go to prison would be such a logistical nightmare? Really wrote myself into a hole with that one lmao. (Please, believe me, fbi man watching me google endless shit about heroin and prostitution and the prison system, I swear that my greatest crime is writing fanfiction.) 
> 
> ...Anyways, the point is that, as far as I can tell, everything Klaus says is accurate to the American legal system. Or at least it was like 6 months ago when I was first researching this.  
> So there is that lmao
> 
> Also, I took a lot of Klaus' detox experience from [ this first-person account](https://www.vice.com/en/article/5988q3/what-its-like-to-detox-in-jail) of what it is like. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment! I love feedback so much, even if it's like "you have six typos" because I cannot read and will go through each chapter 10+ times and still miss things.  
> Love,  
> [ Aye of Newt](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/)


	21. Pranayama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unthinkable happens. 
> 
> Klaus.... gets help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end 
> 
> Anyone else spend this week on the verge of a nervous breakdown and filled with existential dread?
> 
> Lol me too!
> 
> Hope this takes your mind off it?

“I see you’ve had some trouble getting into fights,” Warden Michels, a thin man who appeared old enough to have earned his pension two decades ago, looked up from the transfer paperwork to stare at Klaus, who squirmed. 

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“Are you trying to imply something?” the warden asked, quirking his eyebrow in challenge. 

“No, Sir,” Klaus muttered quickly, glancing down at his lap. 

“Well,” the warden continued, relaxing again, “minimum is obviously a bit more ‘lax than what you’re probably used to. We have a lot of good initiatives here where inmates can move around a little more freely, and teach the kind of things that can help you get back on your feet again. One of our best classes is our anger management program⏤ I believe you may benefit from signing up. It is not required, but it is highly recommended.”

Klaus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, anger didn’t tend to be his problem. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll take that into consideration.”

The warden seemed to pick up on Klaus’ insincerity, adding, “Judges do tend to take consistent attendance as a sign of genuine repentance and reform.” Klaus glanced back up and the warden gave him a meaningful look. “If you understand my meaning,” he finished, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you.”

“The group meets at four on Mondays in rec room two.”

“Thank you,” Klaus muttered again. 

“Now, get out of here. And keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

***

Hovering in the doorway, watching the others roll out mats on the cleared floor, Klaus questioned if he’d remembered the warden’s instructions correctly. He was about to leave when the small woman at the front of the room called to him. 

“Hello!” She padded over, her bare feet pattering lightly across the floor. In the corner the guard stiffened, his hand shifting along his belt as he watched. “Were you here looking for anger management?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Klaus stuttered, looking her over. The woman’s gray and white streaked hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her bright patterned pants ballooned with extra material, except for where they were fitting tight around her ankles. She smiled at him, her blue eyes bright and clear. Against the harsh whites and oranges of the room, she looked bizarre. 

Klaus began to apologize, “Sorry, I’m guessing I got the wrong room⏤”

“Nope, you’re in the right place,” the woman assured him, beaming. “The program has changed a bit,” she admitted, shrugging. “The original group leader unfortunately had to quit, not able to keep up with volunteering and his practice I guess. So that’s where I came in,” she puffed up as she told him. “Now the program is less traditional therapy focused and more orientated around grounding and calming techniques, specifically meditation through yoga. 

"Although, I _do_ help facilitate an addiction support group at a halfway house— but that is a bit of a different area, and admittedly, not quite the same thing as being a licensed therapist, so here we stick mostly to yoga.” 

The mats and pants clicked into place. “Oh.”

The woman laughed at his expression. “You’ll do fine. My name is Lillian by the way.” She looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, uh, Klaus.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Klaus.” 

“Same,” he told her quietly. Her calm professionalism threw him. Being looked in the eye and spoken to like an equal wasn’t something that happened to Klaus often, especially not since he was arrested. Actually, he struggled to remember any time when he was addressed as such. The brief interaction with Lillian was perhaps one of the most normal conversations Klaus had ever had. _And didn’t that say it all_ , he thought dully as he followed after her. 

Lillian handed him a mat and told him to lay it out wherever there was space. After scanning the room, Klaus headed towards the back, spreading out the mat as far away as he could get from his nearest neighbor. 

“Okay, everyone,” Lillian called from the front. “We’re going to get started. As usual, I’ll be going nice and slow. And remember, yoga is always a journey, so if some of the poses today aren’t available for you it’s perfectly okay to modify the position. If at any point anyone has any questions about how to do a pose or how to modify a pose don’t be afraid to ask!” 

It didn’t escape Klaus’ notice how she glanced toward him as she spoke. 

“Okay!” Lillian continued beaming, “Now, let’s get started. I would like everyone to begin by laying down on their back.” 

The class moved to comply. Staring up at the bright fluorescent lights, Klaus felt awkward, the tile hard on his still healing back through the thin mat. He wiggled his feet, already out of patience. Lillian’s soft voice called from the front of the class. “Just let yourself sink into the mat, letting everything that has happened so far today go. Let it all wash over you. If something pops into your head, just acknowledge the thought and then just let it pass right on by. If you would like, you can place your hands on your stomach, or you could place your right hand on your tummy and left hand over your heart, or you could just keep your arms relaxed at your sides.” 

Klaus moved his hands between the examples Lillian had given, unable to relax into any of them. 

“Any position you feel comfortable in is okay,” Lillian assured them, dreamily. “Just pick one and settle in, coming to a rest.”

Klaus let his arms flop down to his sides. 

“Now, start to regulate your breathing,” Lillian instructed, “Take deep, calming breaths. In and out. In and out.”

They lay there breathing for a few minutes before Lillian spoke again, her whisper carrying perfectly in the silence, “Now, take a moment to set an intention for your practice. What are you looking for today? Calm? Patience? Maybe it’s just taking a break from everything else that’s been going on today and letting your mind go blank for a little while. Whatever your intention is, it’s okay. Take one more big breath with me now… and get ready to begin adding some motion to our practice.”

Lillian began to guide them through stretches on their back. Even with her descriptions of what she wanted them to do, Klaus was frequently craning his neck to see what she was doing. It wasn’t like names of the poses did much to help him. How was Klaus supposed to know what “happy baby” meant?

As the class progressed, Klaus tried to follow her instructions, his mind wandering between everything from what was going to be at dinner later and if his presence at the class was actually going to make a difference the next time he was in front of a judge. Or if his record was ever going to actually mean anything at all. He did make a valiant effort to pay attention, pulling himself back to the class whenever he noticed that he’d drifted off, attempting to return to his intention of doing what he was supposed to do.

When they got there, it took Klaus five or six rocks to get into a seated position, his spine twinging in pain. His muscles protested as he forced himself to stretch out more than he had in months, his fingers just grazing his toes as he leaned forward. By the time Lillian had them doing their _vinyasa_ (which apparently meant touching their toes, straightened up, and then doing a _downward dog_ ) Klaus was beginning to feel a touch of _heat_ , as Lillian called it. He was out of shape, partially due to his lack of effort and more so because of several years of malnutrition and neglect, but the feeling of exertion was still familiar, a memory of work his body couldn’t forget. 

Forcing his mind back to the present and away from the twinge of the bruises that lingered on his side and the memory of how they got there, Klaus focused on how awkward he felt. His shoulders ached as he stuck his ass up in the air and tried not to laugh at what it reminded him of. 

“Klaus, is it okay if I touch you?” Lillian’s soft voice came from next to him and Klaus flinched hard away from her. He hadn’t noticed Lillian’s approach and considering the past few months, and generally his life leading up to the current point, the sudden appearance of anyone at his side ignited a basic instinct to flee, or rather curl up on himself until it was over. 

“Sorry!” Lillian whispered quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to fix your form a little bit.”

“It’s okay,” Klaus assured her, his heart slowing. He looked at her from under his elbow. “Please help.”

She laughed quietly and placed a gentle hand on the small of his back, guiding his hips back, and then moving to press his shoulders down and away from his ears. It felt surprisingly better. Lillian wandered off to check up on the others, offering the occasional murmur of advice or praise. 

Halfway through their _flow_ , Lillian called out, reminding them to keep breathing as she swung her leg up and back⏤ _dancer._

Klaus swore quietly under his breath. He’d forgotten about breathing. Forcing his mind back to the class yet again, he tried to keep counting in and out, wobbling as he lost his focus spot on the wall, almost sending him tipping over to the side. 

Despite the slow pace, Klaus was feeling uncomfortably warm and fairly tired by the time Lillian guided them back to their starting position. 

“Now, just take a moment to center yourself again. Think about the intention that you set at the beginning of practice and commit to taking it with you outside of this room. Think about everything that you have just accomplished and what you want to work on in your next practice. Now, let it go and relax down into your mat. Just keep breathing. In and out.” 

Klaus felt heavy as he lay with his eyes closed against the harsh light from above. After a few long quiet minutes, Lillian finished, “You all did wonderful today. Now if you’d join me in sitting up, you can get there any way that you like. Maybe you will rock up like we did earlier today, or curl up on your side, _parsva garbhasana_ , fetal position, and then push yourself up from there. Do whatever feels authentic to you today. Take your time and we’ll meet one last time in a seated position.”

Klaus rocked up, just a little less awkwardly than he had the first time. 

“Now, cross your legs, criss-cross applesauce style, bring your hands to prayer and touch them up to the center of your forehead, your third eye. Be proud of your practice today. Recognize your inner strength and calmness and say with me⏤ _Namastasye_.” 

If Klaus was going to be honest, the most surprising part of the whole experience was how every single one of the men in the room muttered namastasye right along with her. 

As the students milled around, wiping down and putting away their mats, Lillian came over to Klaus again smiling warmly. “Did you enjoy the class today, Klaus?”

“Um… yeah, actually.” He was half surprised at his own answer. Despite struggling to keep up and make his mind empty, there was something actually calming about the slow motions and Lillian’s soft voice. His body felt heavy and worn, but it wasn’t the painful exhaustion of Academy training. It felt satisfying. 

Lillian smiled, warm and genuine, her bright blue eyes crinkling around the edges. “I’m so glad,” she told him, “Will we be seeing you again next week?"

“Yeah, I think so.” If nothing else, it would be something to do. Something to look forward to.

“Good! I’ll see you then, Klaus!” As Klaus was herded out of the room by the guard she called, “And keep practicing on your own too!”

***

Three nights later, Klaus was lost in a nightmare of jumbled memories and inventions of his mind, the bloody broken body of Ben turning to Diego, then Allison, then Vanya in turn, and finally landing on the tiny form of little baby Five, Luther’s front drenched darker and darker as he cradled them each in his arms, screaming for Klaus to do something.

He stared, frozen as their ghostly doubles wailed at him for help. When Klaus finally jerked awake, he remained frozen and unable to move for a moment before, finally, with a strangled gasp, he jerked himself upright. Klaus raised a shaking hand to cradle his head, curling his fingers through his sweat-damped hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked softly, “I’m sorry, Ben.” The shadows swelled and twisted around him and his breath hitched again. “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed his eyes shut but the real image of Ben’s corpse was only clearer when he did so. Fighting to keep his hyperventilation from waking anyone up, Klaus folded himself into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest. “Calm down, calm down,” he muttered to himself, digging his nails into his arms, “Calm down.” 

As he began to rock slightly, the motion triggered a sudden memory of Lillian and her soft voice instructing her class to roll through their spine cut through the rush of panic. _Deep breaths, in and out. Find your center._ Still gripping himself tightly, Klaus began to pull in ragged breaths, counting slowly. 

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

At some point, he must have passed out again from exhaustion because when the door buzzed open for breakfast some hours later, Klaus was jerked awake from where he lay curled awkwardly on his cot. He couldn’t remember any other dreams.

  
  


***

Klaus was wary of the other inmates, even after his transfer. They didn’t know anything about him, and he knew nothing of them, and so for the first few weeks of his stay, they all just watched each other, observing and making calculations. 

On some level, Klaus knew that he had the opportunity to start over and make some connections that could help him, find someone to watch his back. But Klaus didn’t trust anyone, save his siblings. Every time he’d tried to open himself up and allow another person behind his wall, he’d been burned. Klaus had more than learned his lesson⏤ several times over. 

And, considering what had happened at his last prison when he messed up and pissed someone off, Klaus figured that it was best to keep to himself as much as possible. Sure, going lone wolf could be dangerous, but at the very least it seemed that the rates of violence were lower in minimum.

He kept his head down but his eyes sharp and spoke as little as possible, holding himself taunt. When someone looked like they wanted to approach him, Klaus would fix them in his gaze, his eyes intense and unblinking, focusing every ounce of himself in that look. The one that suggested there was more to him that bony little arms and a pretty face. He thought very hard of every person he’d ever killed in the service of the Academy and tried to telepathically communicate to the approaching party that, if he wanted to, Klaus would very easily end them. 

He didn’t act on any of those implied threats of course, but when rumors of what had happened to cause Klaus to transfer started circulating, including everything from him having killed another inmate to being in protective custody because he was in some important crime family, Klaus did nothing to dissuade them. 

(Actually, through some creative whispering and intentionally vague statements, he had started them.)

***

Considering the success of his first session, Klaus attended Lillian’s classes every week, finding with each one that his mind focused more surely on the simple motion of his body and the stretches and poses grew less awkward as they became familiar. In the endless expanse of a week between each class, Klaus practiced in his cell. Hours were spent maneuvering his long limbs carefully in the narrow confines of the room, careful not to bang an elbow or knee on the unforgiving steel frame of the bed or the cinder block walls. But even more time was spent lying on his thin cot or sitting, his legs crossed on the floor, his eyes closed while he breathed slowly.

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

He’d taken a book on meditation out from the library three weeks into taking Lillian’s class. It recommended finding something peaceful to focus on, a place to go to help clear the mind. 

Thinking of it in that way made Klaus feel a little dumb, a little trite. Still, he supposed in essence, it wasn’t too different from the times in his past that he’d found refuge in his own mind during particularly stressful events, though he didn’t allow himself to contemplate too deeply what those events were. As far as Klaus was concerned, he had no need to think about the years of hurt spent between the Crypt and Jason and Earl and johns. No, those thoughts were not welcome in Klaus’ mind, and so he avoided them, just as he had when in the middle of it occurring. 

So, with some reluctance, Klaus began to make attempts at meditation, feeling ridiculously like a rich obnoxious housewife as he skimmed texts on mindfulness. However, despite his hesitation, the practice quickly became as essential as air. In the valley behind his eyes, Klaus was free, the barred windows and barbed wire fences falling away as he ran barefooted through soft grass and gentle wind kissed his face. As he raced towards the horizon, stretching out seemingly just beyond his reach, Klaus’ whole body relaxed, tingling prickling up and down his limbs, sparking in his fingers. He could nearly feel the sun on his neck as he breathed. 

_In_

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

He tried not to think about how closely his happy place resembled the grey meadow of death.

  
  


***

“You’ve improved even since last week!” Lillian told Klaus brightly a little over a month into his attendance. She made a tiny adjustment to his pose. 

“Thanks.” Klaus didn’t risk looking at her, his eyes trained firmly in front of him, trying to keep his balance as his leg quivered. 

“You’re one of my most dedicated⏤ and _gifted_ students,” Lillian added the last part under her breath so that only he could hear her. She winked and floated away to help someone else. 

It took Klaus a moment to process what she had said. Lillian had always been kind in a general sense, but her praise was so direct and genuine in that moment that it startled him. Klaus was never praised, well not for anything other than his appearance or ability to… supply someone with what they desired. For a long time, Klaus had considered that his greatest talent, playing pretend for anyone who dangled what he wanted (usually drugs) in front of his nose. 

He knew that it was just Lillian’s job to say nice things, probably, at least in part, so that the inmates wouldn’t kill her or something, but that didn’t stop him from indulging himself, just a little bit. Deep in Klaus’ chest, the tiny spark of belief (in himself, in humanity, in _good)_ which had for so long lay smothered and sputtering almost to extinguishment was fanned back from the edge, burning into a tiny flickering warmth that didn’t dissipate, even long after the said goodbye to Lillian for the week.

***

Prison food was objectively terrible, but it was reliably there and without heroin to distract him or steal his appetite, and the threat of violence removed, Klaus slowly put on a few needed pounds, pulling him off the edge of a dangerously low body weight. That, along with the exercise, turned Klaus’ arms from spindles to sinewy muscle as he pushed himself further, remastering the handstands that he’d taught himself as a bored teenager. He would never be built like Luther or Diego, but for once in his life, Klaus felt _strong._

For the first time in years, Klaus considered running through the Retzevs that Reginald had drilled them on, the itch to move infecting him until he couldn’t sit still for the life of him, going more stir-crazy than he’d been since he was a teenager. It was more than just his longing to go outside, which had not in any way decreased since his transfer, although the conditions were marginally better in his new facility. It was something new and alien to Klaus, a wish to be more than he currently was. A wish to do something of value in any way. 

Perhaps the desire to practice what he had once been happy to forget stemmed from the determination to never be a victim again, something which had begun with his fight with Baldy. The feeling, the sense of resistance, had built slowly throughout his time in prison as Klaus, against all logic, gained something like self-esteem. (Lillian had done something very strange to his brain that Klaus was still trying to determine the intentions of, be they good or evil.) 

Although, on second thought, krav maga probably wasn’t the best way to demonstrate himself as a reformed, non-violent citizen. 

Klaus started another yoga flow, moving seamlessly from down dog to warrior two to dancer, steady as he balanced on one foot. And if a few of his sequences resembled slowed-down katas, then that was surely just coincidence. 

***

Two months into Lillian’s classes, Klaus realized that it would probably help his performance if he cut down on his smoking habit. 

He made an effort to do so⏤ though he didn’t quit entirely. Even Klaus wasn’t that crazy. He wasn't letting go of his sole comfort source if it killed him.

Though, if Ben were able to talk to him, he would tell Klaus the cigarettes actually would kill him.

Klaus would respond with a joke about he was definitely going to die before he had the chance to get lung cancer.

Which would make Ben frown in that sad and disappointed way.

And then Klaus would feel bad for making him sad but wouldn't admit it directly. Instead, he would _just so happen to decide_ to go to the library and very slowly "read" one of Ben’s favorite books, holding the volume in such a way that it would be very easy for Ben standing behind him to see. 

As annoying as it sometimes was, it was also nice on a weird way that Ben worried so much. It made him feel cared for. The thought made Klaus' heart ache. Almost unconsciously, he dropped his lit cigarette and rubbed it out under his foot.

It suddenly wasn't appealing anymore. 

***

Klaus lay still in his bunk, shadowed in the low light that the jail was cast with at night. It was never fully dark there⏤ that was apparently a privilege for the free. (Though honestly, Klaus preferred that to the alternative. He found that a little light helped chase the nightmares away.)

Klaus closed his eyes and began his breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, staying as silent as possible. Starting at his toes, he imagined each muscle in his body relaxing, traveling up his legs and down his fingers until he felt both relaxed and oddly separated from himself. He became the real Klaus and the free Klaus.

The real Klaus focused on the meadow, the feeling of the grass and earth beneath his feet. He breathed in and out, imagining the sound of his quiet exhale was the wind. The free Klaus got to be there in the open and the image was almost strong enough to make the real Klaus forget it wasn’t true. His feet pounded against the ground as he all but flew across the grass, warmth dancing across his skin from the gentle sun, everything bathed in pale light. 

He didn’t get tired, he couldn’t, but the imaginary Klaus decided to stop running. He wanted to just look. He stood turning slowly. All around him, the ground stretched endlessly, nothing but rippling waves of grass in all directions, a spotless sky arched above him. There was not a single soul there. It felt overwhelmingly safe. _Though,_ real Klaus thought with a pang, _it was unbearably lonely._

The Klaus in the field closed his eyes too as they both thought of Ben, stretching out into the void for the familiar feeling of his soul, distinct and familiar in the endless swirling mass of the dead. 

Klaus could picture him perfectly, going slowly over each detail of his uniform, the arch of his eyebrows, the turn of his nose. He focused on the sensation of Ben standing next to him, the unnamable feeling of another human presence. In the meadow, the imaginary Klaus opened his eyes to see Ben standing before him, whole and undamaged, smiling softly. 

“Klaus?”

The real Klaus’ eyes snapped open, jerked back harshly into the cell. At the foot of his bed stood Ben. 

He stared at Klaus in astonishment. “Can you see me? I feel... _different._ ” He glanced down at his own hands, turning them over as he examined himself.

“Ben?” Klaus reached out slowly, his heart hammering. “Wha⏤” As his last wavering connection to the calm meadow snapped, Ben evaporated. 

“No!” Klaus shouted, too loud. It echoed in the silent night and he cringed, freezing. On the bunk above him, his cellmate turned over with a creak. After no one else responded to his cry, Klaus slowly moved again, sitting up more fully, swinging his legs over the bed so his feet were on the floor. 

“Ben?” he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper. In the weak light, Klaus could make out the familiar wisp wind its way around his wrist. Klaus stared at it a long time, even as the shock wore off and his eyes burned with exhaustion. He didn’t fall asleep again, too consumed with the battling thoughts that it must have been a dream and the strange sense that told him it wasn’t.

. 

But that was impossible. 

It had to be. 

***

“Could I have your attention for one moment please?” Lillian asked at the end of class as they moved to roll up their mats.

The motion stopped and everyone turned polite attention to her. 

She smiled. “Thank you. I wanted to let you know that we will not be having class next week.”

Disappointment, stronger than Klaus thought he would ever feel over a _yoga class_ , clenched his stomach.

“Instead, I will be conducting a brief interview with each of you to see how this program has impacted you. And from now on, we will conduct these interviews every four weeks to track progress. I will tell you that these sessions are important to ensure that the program continues next year, so please be honest⏤ but positive,” she winked to show she was mostly joking. “We want to show that rehabilitation is the future, so these interviews are going to matter not only for this class, but for all classes that come after.”

“No pressure.” The comment popped out before Klaus could stop it and everyone turned to look at him. He blushed but Lillian smiled.

“No pressure,” she laughed. “I will see all of you next week. Just come at the regular time and I will call you in one by one for your interview. You will all also fill out a paper questionnaire. Thank you, and have a peaceful week.”

As Klaus was leaving, Lillian asked to speak to him for a moment. He stopped, allowing her to guide him to the side. 

“Yes?” Klaus felt very suddenly like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. What it was he didn't know, but in Klaus’ experience, there didn't really need to actually be something wrong for a punishment to occur. He fidgeted anxiously. 

“I just wanted to reassure you that these interviews are nothing to be worried about, dear. You have no reason to be nervous, I just wanted to encourage thoughtful responses.”

“Oh.” Klaus relaxed. “No problem.”

“No need for any anxiety,” she repeated gently.

“Right.” Klaus shifted under her soft smile. She looked him in the eyes and it made him deeply uncomfortable. People didn’t look at Klaus like that. People barely looked at Klaus point blank. They liked to let their gaze pass over him, having no time for a pathetic junkie scum that was nothing more than a blot on the landscape. Her gaze made him think of Grace in a tender way. Or at least of Grace in the moments when she wasn’t assisting Reginald in his experiments. The Grace that comforted and cared for him when he was twelve years old and, despite having killed more than two dozen men by that point, heart-breakingly innocent.

He was startled out of his reflection by Lillian’s voice. “I will see you next week, Klaus.” She patted his arm and the guard in the corner shifted. 

“Mam,” he warned.

“Of course,” Lillian pulled her hand away. “No touching.” She smiled at the guard, a mockingly polite parody of the way she looked at Klaus. 

“Thanks,” was all that Klaus managed to say before he all but bolted for the door, conflicting memories of gentle hands stroking his hair and unfeeling synthetic flesh pinning him to the bed while he screamed in terror, Grace’s sweet face far too similar between memories. 

***

Ever since he’d seen Ben a few weeks previously, Klaus had struggled to fully relax into his meditation. It seemed that just when he managed to get his heart to slow and his breath to steady, the thought of Ben would pop into his head and his eyes would fly open, searching for him desperately. 

But he was never there. 

The positions he used to use didn’t seem to work anymore and Klaus moved constantly from sitting criss-cross to lying on the bed to pacing. Finally, he slumped down, resting his back against the wall and his feet flat on the floor. Klaus tipped his head back, closing his eyes. He focused on the feeling of the earth and wall against him, anchoring him in place. He pressed his palms down too, the cold of the cement floor sharp against his hands. Instead of reaching for the meadow, Klaus felt for the void, the sliver of existence that filled the space between worlds, through which the dead’s plane leaked into the world of the living. 

Without the help of drugs, it was more difficult to find, but Klaus slowly pushed out his consciousness around him, letting his breathing slow. Finally, he brushed against something. Klaus reached out tentatively to it, an invitation. The energy pulsed in response and came forward to greet him.

The current of the dead was slower than he remembered, more wavering in and out than a steady river, but Klaus held on. He let the spirits pass over him, searching for the one that was as familiar as his own. 

_“Ben?”_ he called out, his voice silent but his energy reverberating through the shadows. 

He waited for what felt like an eternity before a tiny whisper called back to him. _“Klaus?”_

 _“I’m here. I’m here!”_ Klaus reached out to the spirit, pushing every fiber of his being into it. He latched onto the energy, a tether linking Ben to him. He imagined the thread growing thicker and stronger, slowly winding tighter, pulling them together. 

The part of Klaus’ brain that was still attached to his physical form noted that his body had begun to shake in exertion. The part of him that was reaching out to Ben ignored it, drawing his brother closer. 

Then, like a game of tug-o-war that was suddenly won, the rope that connected the two of them lost all resistance and fell back to Klaus. His eyes flew open. Ben stood above him, staring at Klaus with wonder. 

"Holy shit," he breathed. 

“You’re real,” Klaus whispered, his voice breaking in relief. 

“How did you⏤?”

“I don’t know. I just… knew.”

“You’re trembling,” Ben noticed, switching quickly to worry as he crouched down. 

“It’s fine,” Klaus insisted, gritting his teeth. His whole body was straining and tense and his head pounded with the effort of concentration. 

“Klaus?” Ben flickered. 

“I’m trying,” Klaus hissed, digging his nails into his palms, hoping the pain would center him.

“Klaus, you’re scaring me. You’re hurting yourself⏤"

“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to drink in every fiber of Ben. 

“Klaus, you’re⏤”

“Holy shit! Seizure!” the guard that had been making rounds shouted, unlocking the cell quickly. He seized his radio, calling “Backup, now!” He grabbed Klaus.

Just as sudden as he had won, the chord snapped and Ben was gone. Klaus went limp in total exhaustion, his eyes rolling back into his head. From far away, he could hear the guard swear.

***

Klaus woke up in the medical offices, which was an unpleasant flashback experience. He only barely kept from panicking when the door opened, thankfully recognizing that the man who entered wasn’t Reginald. The doctor told him, or reminded him really, that a guard had found him convulsing and asked if Klaus had taken anything. 

That question, more than the apparent “seizure”, scared Klaus and he tripped over himself trying to convince the doctor that he hadn’t used and wasn’t part of an underground smuggling ring.

The doctor stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s a general question. I didn’t see any evidence when they brought you that it was an overdose. And your blood is clear. It’s just protocol.”

Klaus relaxed. Being believed was so nice. 

“While I am glad that I don’t have to deal with writing that report,” the doctor continued, “contraband drugs are always a pain⏤ I am still left without an explanation for why you had this episode. Any history of seizures?”

“No.”

“Family history?”

“I was adopted.” 

The doctor frowned. “Can you describe what was happening leading up to the episode?” He turned to his computer, pulling up some diagnostic manual.

Klaus searched for a reasonable variation on ‘trying to talk to the ghost of my dead brother’. “Uh… relaxation exercises?”

The doctor glanced up from his screen. “Were you experiencing any severe anxiety at the time?”

Klaus thought about how his heart was pounding as he waited for Ben. “I guess?"

Suddenly the doctor smiled, pushing his wheeled chair away from the computer and back to the examination table. “I think I know what happened.”

_“You do?”_

“You had a panic attack,” the doctor told him gently.

Klaus could have smacked his own forehead for the two seconds he thought that was about to go in a completely different direction. _Right,_ he thought. _He very obviously didn’t piece together that I had a vision of dead people. Get it together, Four._ “Oh.”

“They are more common than you think,” the doctor went on, rising to flip through a basket of pamphlets. “Ah,” he said happily, plucking one out. He handed it to Klaus.

‘Don’t Panic! You’re Not Alone!’ it read. Klaus blinked at it dumbly. 

“I’ve seen a lot of them while working here,” the doctor pressed on. “Your’s is one of the more severe from what I can tell, though comparing it a seizure seems a little extreme. I’ll have to talk to someone about revised training for guards.”

Klaus nodded slowly, unsure where to go from there. “So…” he looked at the doctor, awkwardly. “Do I need to do anything or can I go?”

“Oh, right. Well, there is nothing that I can do for you right now. If this becomes a recurring problem, we may be able to get some anti-anxiety medication for you, but we’re going to hold off on that for now. I could write you a referral to the psychologist on staff?” 

“No!” Klaus said quickly. “No, thank you. I’m good⏤ I prefer to keep my cats in the bag or whatever.”

The doctor looked at him a little strangely but shrugged. “Okay. Then you’re free to go whenever you feel stable enough to walk.” 

“Now,” Klaus said quickly. He hated being near anything even vaguely medical. “I’m good now.” 

“Are you⏤”

“Yep.” Klaus stood and only swayed a little. “I’m good.”

The doctor squinted at him.

Klaus grinned, giving him a thumbs up.

He shrugged again and told Klaus to take it easy, calling to the guard outside to take Klaus back to his cell. 

In bed that night, Klaus whispered to the shadowy figure that he knew was Ben, “I’m going to figure out how to do this, Benny. I’m going to see you again.”

He dropped off to sleep, resting deeper than he had in a long time. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW very brief and light implication of suicidal ideation 
> 
> *****
> 
> A turning point!!!! We are now in what I call "Act Three" of this fic... very exciting 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed and please leave a comment if you would like. I love all comments, you don't have to feel pressured about writing a "good one". They are all *EXCELLENT* ones. 
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


	22. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus finally wins a fucking battle in the endless war that is his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank fuck. 
> 
> America is still shit but I don't have to plan my immediate immigration to Iceland or something. 
> 
> Fucking christ this last week has taken about a year off my life from the stress alone. 
> 
> But we won. 
> 
> Fucking hell.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter.

“Klaus?” Lillian called as she led another participant out of the room. He stood and she smiled at him, ushering him in. 

“Please, take a seat.” There were two yoga mats laid out on the floor parallel to each other. Klaus sat on the one he recognized as being from the stock that the class used. Lillian sat on her own mat, purple with blue swirls. 

“Do you want this?” Klaus asked, lifting his survey. 

“Thank you,” Lillian took it and slid it into a folder without looking at it. “I’m not supposed to read them yet,” she explained, picking up a clipboard. “That part will be anonymous. Okay Klaus, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about the program and how it has helped you and make some notes. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. If you have any questions let me know and if any of the questions are too uncomfortable just say ‘pass’. Alright?”

“Um-hm.”

“Okay, first question. Do you mind sharing why you were arrested? It’s to show the impact of the program on people with different backgrounds.”

“Drugs,” Klaus shrugged. 

Lillian glanced up at him. “Just drugs?”

“Well I was also accused of prostitution at first but that was dropped before we even got to court because they didn’t have evidence other than I had a prior arrest.” 

A flicker of sadness was the only reaction that Lillian had. “Okay, thank you, Klaus. Was it just a possession charge then?”

“With intent to sell,” he admitted.

She nodded. “And can I ask what the ruling was?"

“Eighteen months.”

Lillian marked it down. “And how far along are you in serving the time?”

“Almost seven months.”

“Do you have any parole hearings coming up?”

“At ten months.”

Lillian smiled at him. “Well, that’s not too far away! I would be happy to provide a recommendation for you.”

“Thanks,” Klaus whispered, a little surprised and confused, though perhaps she was just following a polite social norm that he didn’t know about. That would make the most sense⏤ that it was one of those things where someone says that they’d be happy to do something that they actually have no intention of doing. 

“Of course. But, Klaus, I do have to ask⏤ why were you recommended to the anger management program if you had a drug charge? Most of the men I see here were convicted of violent crimes like assault.”

“I was sent to another prison first,” Klaus explained. “I was in a higher-security block at first. Overcrowding, you know? I got into a fight⏤ self-defense,” he clarified quickly, not wanting Lillian to think of him any less than she probably already did. “His buddies weren’t happy with me. They sought retribution… a lot.”

Lillian looked at him with worry wrinkled between her brow. “I’m sorry to hear that, Klaus. Were you seriously injured?”

He shrugged. “Naw. Worst I had was a few stitches and one cracked rib.”

Klaus missed the way Lillian’s eyes widened at that, oblivious to what most people considered to be serious injuries.

“Anyway, I was eventually transferred out of there for safety and shit. Stuff⏤ sorry. But the stuff in my file about all of that made it look like I was getting into a lot of trouble. The warden here suggested that your class would look good to a judge.”

Lillian elected not to take the conversation completely off course by asking what the hell kind of injuries Klaus did consider serious, though she did make a note about finding a good way to suggest he see the on-staff counselor. Forcing herself to recover from her shock and regain a calm demeanor, Lillian simply nodded. “I see. Thank you, Klaus, for being open with me.”

“Sure,” he shifted uncomfortably. 

“Okay, let’s move on. How would you say that this class has helped you?”

Klaus thought for a minute. “It’s given me something to do that’s not getting high and the meditation has helped⏤" He wasn’t sure how to translate ‘see dead people’ into normal human speech. 

“Helping with what? Nothing you say will sound stupid,” Lillian assured him.

 _Not sure about that,_ Klaus thought. “It helped me to feel... human.”

Lillian looked at him intently. “What do you mean by that?”

Klaus squirmed, unconsciously pulling his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “I mean… when I was a kid, I was a tool or an experiment. When I was using, I was nothing.”

“Klaus,” Lillian said, gently, “don’t⏤”

“It’s true. All I did was get high and I would give anything to do it. I let people do anything they wanted as long as they gave me a hit or the cash for one. I even stole from my brother after he tried to help me get sober.” Klaus couldn’t look at Lillian as he spoke, picking at the skin around his nails. 

“You say that when you were a child, you were used as a, uh, _tool_." Lillian's face twisted at that, her expression troubled. "Abused children often struggle with issues like addiction, Klaus,” she continued, her voice soft with compassion. Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Would you say that you were abused?”

He was overwhelmed by the image of the basement and memories of hours spent training until he all but collapsed and the feeling like rocks on his chest while Reginald explained exactly why Klaus was the worst of the Academy. 

He thought of how nothing that Reginald had said was untrue. 

As much as Klaus hated Reginald, something inside of him still hesitated to call what had happened to him abuse. It didn’t seem like abuse to tell someone the truth, even if it hurt. 

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t look at Lillian. 

“Did anyone ever use physical force to punish you? Kick you or hit you with their hands or instruments?”

Klaus thought of bloody knuckles split open by a cane and clumps of hair pulled out from being dragged upstairs. He shrugged. 

“Or demean you with words or actions? Purposefully make you feel small or worthless?” 

_A waste. Weak. Pathetic._

Klaus flinched.

“Did they use things like money or other resources that you needed to control you?”

Klaus thought of the hours spent on the bathroom floor of the Academy, Allison pounding on the door, annoyed that it was taking him so long to find the ability to stand after the last round of withdrawal nausea had faded.

“Klaus?” Lillian asked, so gently it hurt. 

He nodded slowly, rasping, “Yeah. I would say all of that.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Lillian told him in the same careful voice. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Like a reflex trained into him the same way that escaping a chokehold was, Klaus protested, “But I was⏤”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lillian told him firmly. “No child deserves to be abused, Klaus.”

His throat was too tight to speak. Klaus looked down, trying to hide the way his eyes were wet. 

“It’s important for you to acknowledge that it wasn’t your fault, Klaus. You might not be ready to do that today, but I want you to work on it alright?” Lillian gave him a moment to pull himself together before she spoke again. “Are you okay to keep going?”

“Yeah.” Klaus wiped his face quickly. “I’m good.”

“Alright, I will follow your lead, but if you need to stop you can say so, okay?”

“Okay.”

She continued with questions about what his life was like before he was arrested and what prison was like before he was transferred. Klaus answered as best as he could without explaining that he was a former child vigilante with supernatural powers. 

Finally, Lillian reached the end of her paperwork. “Thank you again, Klaus. I really appreciate how honest you’ve been with me.”

He shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

“You don’t need to downplay your bravery, Klaus.”

He couldn’t quite look at her as he shrugged again. He wouldn’t call it that. Klaus was always the most afraid of his siblings. The coward. Well, maybe Vanya was more timid, but she didn’t really count. She didn’t have to go play superhero like Klaus did. She got to stay home where it was safe. 

“Are you okay to leave?” Lillian asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Or do you need a moment?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.” Klaus stood stiffly and Lillian followed. 

“As I said, Klaus, I would be happy to speak on your behalf to any judge.”

“Thank you,” he said automatically, at the moment unable to process anything further that she was saying and therefore not questioning her continued instances toward pretending that she cared. 

“No need.” She smiled and walked him to the door.

***

Klaus worked on growing his connection to Ben with a wild fervour, practicing every day for as long as he could stand. After the “seizure” debacle, he decided it was best to do it under the cover of (relative) darkness and waited impatiently each night until the sounds of his cellmate turned to quiet snores and the block fell silent around them. 

Then, he would close his eyes and reach out into the void. In the beginning, it was just as difficult as the first time. Klaus struggled for as much as thirty minutes to bring Ben into focus, only to lose him within seconds, his form flickering like wet kindling that refused to catch. 

He checked out every book he could find in the library about meditation and calming techniques, and a slew on the supernatural just to be safe. Eventually, he came across the idea of grounding energy and remembered the position he’d been in the first time Klaus had summoned Ben intentionally.

That night, when he deemed it safe, Klaus slid off his cot and placed his feet flatly on the floor, pressing down through his roots to center himself. 

He began his breathing, easing himself back into the between worlds. When he found Ben, he pressed his feet more firmly down, like he was pulling a physical tether and focused all of his energy into bringing Ben to him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

When he saw him, standing there as solid and sure as he did on the most perfect cocktail of opioids, Klaus nearly cried. “Hey, Benny.”

“What is happening, Klaus?”

“I think I figured out how to use my powers.” He smiled slowly as Ben carefully sat down across from him, his eyes wide.

“I’m listening.”

***

“Klaus!”

He startled. No one called to him like that here, excited and familiar. No one even really spoke to Klaus. He turned at the sound of his name, searching the cafeteria. 

“Klaus!”

Finally, he found the source, who was waving at him brightly as he jogged up.

“Hey,” Q grinned at Klaus as he came to stand by him. “Long time no see huh?”

It had been since the night of Klaus’ arrest. He remembered suddenly that Q had been off that night and so had escaped the raid. Klaus realized he’d never thought much about what had happened to Q. He hadn’t been arrested, so he’d slipped Klaus’ mind, not registering as something to be worried about. Though he didn’t feel too bad about it considering that Q currently did not seem overly worried about Klaus either if he was making jokes.

“Well I’ve been held up you see,” Klaus quipped dryly.

Q laughed. “Tough luck on that bust. Ms. O was sorry to see you go, though I have to admit that it’s been good for my business without your competition. I’ve moved up to number one seller since you’ve been gone.”

“Congratulations,” Klaus said flatly. Q always was kind of an insensitive prick.

“Or, I _was_ I guess.” Q frowned. “Not going to be doing much selling here.”

“Oh? I’m doing _great._ Business is booming.” Klaus rolled his eyes as he picked up a tray, moving down the line. 

Q followed him. “Really? You’re going to have to show me your tricks. I want in.”

He never had a sense of sarcasm either. “Joking, Q.”

“Oh.” He was silent for a moment, following Klaus down the line. “So much time you’d get anyway?”

“Eighteen.” 

“Oof, rough. It was my first time so I got ten.”

“Lucky you.” As much as Klaus had been wishing to see a familiar face, he would not have picked Q.

“I guess,” Q chattered on, completely unaware of his rudeness. “I got caught in a second raid. Not entirely sure, but I heard Ms. O’s bugged out. Went somewhere upstate to lie low for a bit.”

Klaus hummed vaguely. Generally speaking, he thought of Ms. O with the same benevolently as one might their otherwise average history teacher who slipped them enough extra credit to bump their grade up enough to just barely pass. She’d been better than a lot of people he met, but even Klaus could recognize that she wasn’t exactly good for him. And while she evidently wasn’t looking for retribution for him getting caught (thank the Little Girl for that), she had written him off entirely now that he wasn’t useful. At the end of the day, she was exactly what he’d taken her as at their first meeting, a businesswoman. 

_Fuck capitalism._

Klaus set his tray down slightly too hard on his table, annoyed at Q for following him. He had a reputation to maintain and he wasn’t going to last long if Q kept chattering to him like a little kid. 

“I know you were joking before,” Q prattled on, “but I have met a guy or two who are working some contraband markets. If you’re interested, I’m sure I could get them to count you in.”

“No thanks, Q,” Klaus cut him off, half surprising himself. 

“Really?” Q stopped, staring at him. “I thought you’d be the first to jump at the chance to get your hands on some of the good stuff again. I remember what you were like before you got arrested. Man, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who dosed that continuously⏤”

He thought of Ben, called into shape beside him without the help of so much as a Tylenol. “I’m done,” Klaus insisted, more firmly.

“What?”

“I’m done.”

“But⏤”

“I’m done, Q.” Klaus got up. “You do what you want, but I’m done.” He walked away, leaving Q staring bewildered behind him. 

  
  


***

At his second questionnaire session with Lillian, she asked Klaus again if he was ready to say that he did not deserve to be abused. 

Klaus paused for too long. 

Lillian had smiled at him sadly and told him that it was okay to take all the time he needed. 

She switched to asking questions about what forms of meditation or breathing techniques he found useful in an everyday setting.

***

As the ten-month mark came closer, Klaus was able to connect to Ben for five minutes, then ten, then fifteen before he was too tired to continue.

His understanding of what his powers were was limited at best, but as he learned to use them sober, Klaus began to develop a theory. By his best guest, his ability to connect to the realm of the dead had more to do with his emotional state than anything. The more relaxed Klaus was, the easier it was to walk between worlds. 

The drugs had kept him in that state artificially, forcing his mind to open and walls to relax even as panic gripped him. Klaus' mastery of his abilities was artificial and no matter what it appeared, he was the one being manipulated, not his powers. Now, with the help of meditation, for the first time in his life, Klaus was truly in control. 

***

“Klaus?” Lillian called at the end of class one day. “Hold back a moment?”

He nodded and finished cleaning up his things, wriggling his shoes back on, unbothered by the request. Despite himself, he had faith that she wasn't about to turn on him at any moment, even if she couldn't be trusted quite the way family was. 

Lillian waited for the others to trickle out before she spoke again. “I wanted to let you know I’m definitely going to be there next month.”

Klaus blanked on what she was talking about. “Next⏤ ?" He stared at her in confusion before it finally clicked."Oh! The hearing.”

Lillian laughed. “Yes, the hearing. I told you I would be.”

“Right. Of course.” He blushed. 

“There was something that I would like to ask you about, however.”

“Yeah?” Unease slithered down his spine.

“What is your plan for if you are granted parole?”

“Huh?” 

"Do you have anyone who can help you get back on your feet? I know that your work and living situation was somewhat unstable before."

"Oh." Somehow, in all of his hoping, Klaus had not quite thought about what he was actually going to do if what he wanted came true. He'd been so focused on the idea of getting out, he forgot what would come after. "I don't know. I still don't really understand what powers the court has. They might just send me back to my dad. It's kinda a complicated... thing." With some reluctance, Klaus explained the conservatorship as quickly as possible. When he finished, Lillian took a long pause, frowning deeply as she thought. 

“Well, from what I have seen, I do not think that such measures are necessary, Klaus. And I would be more than happy to state that, as well as provide testimony to the fact that your father was abusive and did more to damage you than help you. I’m sure that will be a separate court date, but just let me know when you need me and I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Really?” Klaus breathed.

"Of course. However, I am concerned about what is going to happen in the meantime. It would obviously be quite detrimental to your recovery to send you back to your father, however, due to the restrictions placed on you, I'm not sure that you would be able to find safe housing on your own, especially considering the difficulties of leaving prison."

Klaus' stomach turned. It wasn't anything he didn't already know, but it still made him sick to consider.

"It may be a little difficult to win this argument," Lillian said slowly, "But I do have a proposition for you."

Klaus raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you remember, I told you that I work as a counselor at a rehabilitation center for addiction?"

Klaus nodded.

"We’ve taken on many transitional cases from detainment to integration back into society. There is a spot that would be available at the time of your appeal, and I think that the judge may agree to release you into the care of the center⏤ with a few conditions of course. Good behavior and all that."

"How do I do that?" Klaus asked in bated breath.

"It would be part of your release plan. The program is pretty extensive and would include helping you climate after you finish rehab."

"That's... amazing." Klaus didn't even know what else to say. And just when he thought there couldn't be any more shocking twists, Lillian spoke again.

"And if we’re lucky, you could even have your file sealed. Eventually.” 

“Sealed?” Klaus was still trying to track her offer, calculating what her motivation could possibly be.

“Made private. Your conviction wouldn’t show up on background checks and such.” 

Klaus stared at her in shock. That had to be made up. “You can do that?” 

“Yes. It would require another court date after the program is completed, but that’s a potential. Your life is still full of possibility, Klaus. I don't want to see you give up hope on that. Especially considering what you've been through. Sending you here in the first place was a miscarriage of justice.” 

Klaus was still hung up on the idea of his conviction just... vanishing. “And you think that they would honestly let me do that? Bury this whole thing?”

“Maybe. I can’t make promises, but I’ve seen it happen once or twice.” 

Klaus nodded slowly, overwhelmed. “What⏤ what do I need to do?”

“Well, most important is to complete the program, stay clean, and stay out of trouble.”

“Right.”

“And then we file some paperwork and tell a judge why you deserve a second chance.” 

“Right.” Klaus stared at her, waiting for the rest of it. 

“Does that make sense?”

Klaus nodded. 

“You still look unsure,” Lillian said, watching him carefully. “Is there something else?”

“I just, I don’t understand what you want.” 

It was Lillian’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“What do you want? For helping me.”

Lillian’s eyes widened. “Nothing, Klaus. Nothing.”

“I don’t understand.” Klaus hated feeling like he was missing something that everyone else knew. It was like being back in class at the Academy when everyone else understood how to solve for y or some shit like that and Klaus was still stuck on fractions. 

Lillian looked heartbroken as she repeated, “I don’t want anything from you, Klaus. Well, I mean, I want you to succeed in the program and stay clean, but that’s it.” 

Klaus stared at her, sizing her up consideringly. 

“I help people because I want to, Klaus. And because I can.” 

_I have the ability to help people, so I have a moral obligation to do so._ A quiet echo of Diego’s voice rang in his mind. Of course, that is what good people did. Help people, just because they could.

“I really want to hug you,” Klaus told her, his voice tight. 

She beamed, her own eyes a little damp. “When we get you out, I will be the first to offer one.” 

"If I get out," he joked shallowly, his cheerful expression wavering as he remembered the power and influence Reginald had. 

Lillian nodded thoughtfully. “I know you’ve been hesitant to do so in the past, but I think it would be helpful if you were to talk to a proper psychologist or counselor. I know you don’t want to, but they would probably be your best chance at being taken seriously by the court.”

As much as it pained him to admit, Klaus knew she was right. If he was ever going to convince someone that he was mentally stable enough to live on his own, he would need to actually be evaluated.

He nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

“You’ll see someone?” Lillian asked hopefully.

He nodded.

She beamed. “Wonderful. I’m going to help you set that up, okay Klaus? We’re going to get you out of here.”

Foolish as it was, Klaus allowed himself a bit of hope at that statement. 

***

“Klaus?”

“Hmm?” he asked, watching Ben through his eyelashes as he sagged tiredly against the wall. 

“Do you remember when you got rid of all the blood?”

“What?” Sadly, Ben would have to be a little more specific than that considering their childhood. 

“When you… healed me.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Why?”

In the dim light, Klaus could just make out the rise and fall of Ben’s shoulders. “I was just thinking about it,” he continued. “Why were you able to do that?”

“I don’t know,” he whined. “You know as much as I do, Ben. Figuring out what the hell my powers actually are is a crap-shoot. I wanted you to not be bloody anymore and then you weren’t. What else is there to say?”

“Come on, Klaus. Think about it. If you could do that, what’s to say that you couldn’t do something like it again?”

“Benny, babe, I’m not following.”

Ben groaned, “You said yourself that you think your powers are more than anything you ever experienced while Dad was drugging you. What if that is part of it?”

“I mean, I assume it is, but I have no idea how that even works⏤ I’ve only done it once or twice and only with you. I assumed it was a fluke or something. Do you know how many times I wished the other people didn’t look like _That_?”

Ben frowned, thinking. “Well,” he said slowly, “our connection has always been different, right?” 

“I guess,” Klaus agreed reluctantly. 

“Maybe that’s why.”

“It would make sense.”

“I think we should experiment more.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to grow up.”

Klaus stilled, his heart aching. “I can’t bring you back to life, Ben,” he croaked. 

Ben winced beside him. “No, shit, sorry. Not what I meant. I just thought… you might be able to make me _look_ like I grew up.”

_Huh._

“But that was dumb. Sorry,” Ben continued. 

“Wait.” 

Ben turned towards him, struggling to mask a hopeful expression.

“I could try.” Maybe it would be a little less depressing if Ben didn’t look like his sixteen-year-old himself. A bit less of a reminder to both of them that he’d died as a child. 

“And I’m really sick of this uniform,” Ben added, a bit of a joking tone sneaking into his voice. “Could you give me something cool?”

“Something cool?”

“Like… a leather jacket. That would be awesome.” 

Klaus snickered. “Any other demands?”

“Make me tall?”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “You’ll get what you get,” he groused. 

There was a momentary silence before Ben asked, “Are you trying yet?”

“Jesus, Ben, give me a minute.”

Klaus closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to center himself. He called the image of Ben to his mind and tried to picture him growing bigger. Klaus didn’t feel anything, but he also didn’t really remember what the last time felt like either. He cracked one eye open. “Feel any different?” he asked Ben. 

“No.”

Klaus sighed. “I don’t know, it’s harder than last time. I knew what you were supposed to look like. I can’t picture you grown up!”

Ben nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense... What about the clothes? You know what other clothes look like.”

“Ben if you don’t watch it, I’m going to put you in footie pajamas for all eternity.” 

***

At his third interview, Lillian spent most of the time going over Klaus’ appeal statement with him and told him she’d set up an appointment with the psychologist on staff as a secondary witness to his state of mind. 

Klaus was still somewhat skeptical that a psychiatric evaluation would work out in his favor, but he figured if he avoided mentioning the voices and people that no one else could see or hear it would be fine.

  
  


The shrink was also annoyingly obsessed with the whole abuse thing and seemed mildly disturbed when Klaus explained that yes, his father had gotten him hooked on morphine when he was twelve and used it to control him. But he’d also used heroin on his own too so would the court really take that into account? 

As Klaus talked her through the events leading up to his arrest, he gestured widely with his hands, “And so you see, I wasn’t a prostitute in _that_ situation⏤”

“Mr. Hargreeves?” the psychologist interrupted, staring intently at his wrists. “What happened to your arm?”

Klaus looked down at the exposed scars of his wrist and felt his stomach drop. Usually, he was more careful. “Oh. Right. Those.”

“Mr. Hargreeves, by law I have to ask, are you now or have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”

“No! That’s not⏤ these aren’t,” he fumbled for what to say. “I didn’t do that to myself. Or, well, technically yes, I _did_ , but not intentionally? Like, I’m sure that’s what _he_ used as evidence that I was mentally unstable but it’s not what it looks like.”

The psychologist was watching him, her eyebrows lowered in concern. “What happened, Mr. Hargreeves?”

 _My dad strapped me down_ , seemed like the type of thing that might get people to start asking a lot of uncomfortable questions. 

“Klaus?” she asked again, more gently. 

“I was tied down,” he said cautiously, “when I didn’t want to be.”

Her eyes widened a little and she looked down at the scars again. It was evident that they occurred over a long period of time. “Klaus, did your father do that?”

“Got it in one.”

“Klaus,” she asked carefully, “was your father’s abuse⏤” she stopped and rephrased. “Were there other forms of abuse, other than physical and mental?”

After a brief second of confusion, Klaus realized what she was asking and felt sick. “No! Fuck! That’s… No. He… he sucked like major ass, but he didn’t… no.” He shuttered. “No.”

She looked at him carefully before nodding and made a note on her clipboard. “Okay, we can move on if you would like. Unless there is anything else you’d like to say about your father?”

"Nope, I’m good,” Klaus said almost too quickly.

The psychologist looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself, allowing him to take the lead as she changed her route of questioning. “So tell me more about how you feel you’ve changed since your arrest?”

  
  


There was no more mention of Reginald and at the end of the session, the psychologist wished Klaus good luck on his mental-wellness journey. Klaus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take that as an insult or not. 

***

Klaus was allowed to wear a suit to his hearing. It was nothing fancy, just something that had been donated to the prison for occasions such as his. Wearing it made him feel like a child, in part due to how loosely it fit, but mostly because of the memories the blue blazer brought back in sharp clarity. 

As he did his tie, the motions built into his body by memory, Klaus allowed himself to actually think about how important the decision in that room would be. For a long time, what happened in Klaus’ life didn’t have any meaning other than their effect in the current moment, at least as far as he was concerned. What did it matter if he was arrested? Why would a permanent record mean anything for someone like Klaus, who wasn’t destined for anything more than dying young and stupid? 

But Lillian believed in him. For some bizarre, unknowable reason, she thought that Klaus was worth speaking up for. And as he straightened his hair in the mirror, Klaus realized he felt pressure to live up to the person that she thought he was. It wasn’t the same feeling that Reginald instilled⏤ Klaus didn’t fear what she would do to him if he failed, but all the same, the thought of disappointing her made Klaus feel ill. 

He mentally ran back over the notes that he’d prepared with Lillian and the lawyer he’d been provided. By some miracle, and by that he meant Lillian’s help, Klaus had managed to secure the right to his own public defender rather than someone Reginald hired by the logic that if he was going to argue against the conservatorship, he shouldn’t be represented by someone off Reginald’s payroll. Even if he wasn't going to fighting the guardianship that day, it was still granted that he had the right to his own attorney as he was arguing against being released into his father's care. 

While he waited to be collected for his appearance, Klaus closed his eyes and located Ben with ease. 

“You’re going to be okay, Klaus,” Ben told him as he took shape next to Klaus on the bench. 

Klaus smiled at him weakly, not wanting to risk the guard thinking that Klaus was off his rocker for talking to the air. 

“And thanks for this by the way,” Ben added, stuffing his hands into his new jacket. “Do I look cool?”

Klaus nodded, struggling to conceal his delight in Ben’s nerdy charm. “Very.”

“What was that?” the guard asked, turning around. 

“Nothing!” Klaus grinned at him quickly. 

The guard rolled his eyes and went back to his work. 

  
  
  


As he entered the hearing, Klaus’ hands shook with nerves. It was strange, but he was far more afraid then than he’d been when he was first arrested. From the small collection of chairs set up in the back of the room, Lillian raised a hand and smiled at him.

A tiny part of the tension that Klaus carried let go and he realized how much he’d feared that Lillian wasn’t going to show, however illogical a thought that was. 

It was that assurance that kept him standing when he caught Reginald’s gaze from the other side of the chamber. Instead of shrinking like he did the last time he saw his father, Klaus raised his chin in a challenge. This time, he was prepared. 

Reginald raised an eyebrow in response, his only acknowledgment of his surprise that Klaus had grown stronger in his imprisonment rather than weaker as he expected. 

Klaus’ relief was quickly forgotten as the proceedings began. 

The Hearing Examiner picked up his papers, shuffling them as he refreshed his memory of what they were there to do. “Mr. Hargreeves?”

“Yes sir.”

The Examiner peered down at him, and Klaus was suddenly very glad that he’d decided to go completely clean-shaven. “You’re asking that you be permitted to serve your parol in rehab rather than be released into the community?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t _not_ take traditional parol.” Klaus regretted it the instant he said it. 

“Mr. Hargreeves.”

“I’m sorry! Sir. I make jokes when I’m nervous. It’s apparently a coping mechanism or something? That’s what the shrink I saw said at least. I think you have the file that she filled out? About the progress and shit⏤ sorry, I mean _stuff_ that I’ve made and all that. I also talk a lot when I’m uncomfortable which I do realize that I am doing now, sir. Your Honor. No disrespect was meant, sir. Commissioner. Sir.” Klaus grimaced, his smile looking not at all casual and convincing. 

The Board members gazed at him flatly.

Klaus’ lawyer looked like she wanted to bang her head on the table. 

“Thank you, Mr. Hargreeves,” the Board member to the left finally said. “But for the time being, let’s stick to answering the questions that we ask. Sound doable?”

“Yes,” Klaus answered quickly. “Mam."

She sighed but didn’t comment on it. “Alright, explain your reasoning for this request, please.”

His lawyer thankfully spoke for Klaus. "We move that Mr. Hargreeves be released into the care of the Healing Sage Rehabilitation Home. He will complete a four-month program there centered around addiction recovery and reintegration with society. Assuming that all goes well, it is our belief that the completion of this program would give reason to release Mr. Hargeeves from the care of the state. And we hope, his release from the unnecessary and oppressive conservatorship he has been placed under."

“I see. And it says here that you have a recommendation from one of the employees of Healing Sage who is here to speak on behalf of Mr. Hargreeves?”

“Yes, there is. Ms. Lillian Woods.”

“Ms. Woods?” 

“Would you please come forward?”

“Of course." Lillian came to the front of the room. 

“Ms. Woods, your statement please.”

Lillian explained everything that had happened since she’d met Klaus almost eight months previously, pausing only to answer a few questions from the Board. She finished by stating, “Klaus is a good person. I believe in his compassion, his work ethic, and his willingness to change and work hard. He has made bad decisions in his life, but Klaus has been a victim far more than anything else. He was preyed upon as a child and then as a vulnerable adult. What Klaus needs is to be given the tools to forge a healthy and productive future for himself, beyond the control of a father who did far more to cause Klaus’ struggles in life than help them. It is a waste of his potential to keep him in jail, and it is lacking in the very humanity and compassion that I am told that I should be teaching my students in prison.”

The Examiner looked at her for a long time, considering her carefully. “That was certainly a passionate defense, Ms. Woods.”

“I believe every word,” she assured him confidently. 

“Thank you, Ms. Woods. You may step down.” 

Lillian smiled encouragingly at Klaus as she went back to her seat. 

“Mr. Hargreeves,” the Board member on the right turned his attention to Klaus. “You have found yourself a strong ally.”

"Yes, I have.” 

“She has made a powerful case for you.”

“I’m lucky.”

“I would say you are. Can you tell me, in your own words, why you deserve to be given the chance that she is offering you?”

Klaus took a pause to think. “To be honest, I’m not sure I can.” He could hear his lawyer take a sharp intake of breath beside him but Klaus didn’t move from where he stood, looking up at the judge.

“Oh?” The Examiner looked genuinely surprised. 

“Yes. I have never had anyone say something like that about me before. For most of my life, I have been useless, pathetic, and afraid.”

The Board member on the left looked like she was about to say something but Klaus continued. 

“But I would like… to not be those things. And I think that Lillian could maybe show me how.”

Klaus tried not to fidget as the Board stared down at him intently for what felt like far too long.

“Mr. Hargreeves, Ms. Woods testified that you were abused by your father, is that correct?”

There was a long oppressive silence. Klaus swore he could feel Reginald’s eyes on his neck as he stood there, the words burning in the back of his throat. Klaus swallowed before answering, “Yes.” He was relieved he managed to say it without stuttering. 

“And it says in your notes from the prison psychologist that your father used drugs such as… _morphine_ to control your behavior?”

“Yes."

“From what age?”

“Twelve.”

All three of the board members shook their head in barely disguised disgust. The one in the center spoke, “That’s what is said here, but I was hoping… Nevermind.” He threw a look towards where Reginald sat before turning to Klaus again. “Mr. Hargreeves, according to everything that I have before me, you have made considerable efforts to improve yourself while incarcerated. And you have compelling testimony made by an upstanding member of the community on your behalf. I do personally believe in restorative justice, especially in the case of non-violent crimes. Therefore, I grant your motion.”

Klaus could hear Lillian gasp in happiness behind him even as he struggled to process what he’d been told. 

“You will be transferred to the care of Healing Sage Rehabilitation Center within the next twenty-four hours.”

A tremble ran through Klaus as he caught up to what was happening. 

“You will be required to complete the four-month program as outlined by Ms. Woods and pass the final evaluation of the head care-provider there. At the end of this time, should the appropriate parties feel it is responsible to do so, you will be released as a free man. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Klaus whispered, his eyes wide. 

“But, if you set even a toe out of line, and I’m talking about j-walking here you understand? If you step a _toe_ out of line, you will be back in jail before you can blink, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Klaus said desperately. 

“And while we are in no way able to make a decision on the validity of your conservatorship, I would think that a success such as completing the program would be more than enough proof that you are able to do well on your own.”

Klaus barely knew how to process that. It was unnatural to have so much good news given out at once.

The Examiner closed the file on his desk. “Alright then, we are done here for today." He stood, adding more warmly than he’d spoken the entire session, “And on a personal note, good luck to you Mr. Hargreeves.”

The woman on the left offered him a small smile. 

“Thank you,” Klaus managed to stammer out. His lawyer clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a handshake, smiling widely. 

“Congratulations,” Lillian said from behind him and Klaus turned, still in a half-daze. She extended her arms and pulled him to the first hug he’d experienced in years, her tiny frame somehow both soft and strong. 

Klaus melted down into her. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

He felt no need to look back at Reginald. His life had simply, finally, progressed past the need for his father’s reaction to anything. Klaus was so close to freedom he could taste it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So the legalities are a bit hand-wavy here going to be honest. 
> 
> The parol board is not entirely accurate to how it would work in real life and I admit that. Basically, I kept having to make changes to this until my head hurt and I don't fully understand everything so I just went... you know what? Technically, Umbrella Academy doesn't take place in our world so the laws can be a little different than ours. And I called it a day lmao. Sorry.  
> The biggest "errors" as far as I know are 1) that Klaus would not get a ruling right away (I did that for ~dramatic effect~) and 2) it is a little iffy as to if Lillian would actually be able to be there in the flesh. I believe she would have to submit a letter in the real world instead of testifying. 
> 
> Please forgive me for this, I hope you don't find it too distracting lol. But also feel free to tell me how much I got wrong and how I *should* have written this. I know it's not perfect in any way 
> 
> Love,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aye-of-newt)


	23. Instrument Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus' first day in rehab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks.
> 
> Some sad news in the world of conservatorship. Britney Spears lost her case asking for her father's guardianship over her to be removed. I'll [ insert a link](https://www.bbc.com/news/amp/entertainment-arts-54897918?__twitter_impression=true) to an article about it.
> 
> While this is very upsetting, I don't think that there is too much any of us can do right now other than pay attention and try to raise some awareness on how easy it is to abuse this kind of power. I understand why something like a conservatorship can be necessary for someone who is suffering of say, dementia, but I think we can all agree that the current system is very much broken.
> 
> Speaking of failures of the system, let's check in our favorite disaster gay with the power to raise the dead!

When Klaus was released he was given back the small handful of possessions he’d had with him when he was arrested. Which, he assumed, was now everything that he owned. It seemed unlikely that anyone at Smoke had kept the rest of his things safe for him. 

He was escorted out of the building to the custody a driver for Healing Sage, a man who appeared to be in his late sixties. He didn’t stop talking the entire drive about his wife Dorine and how wonderful his granddaughter’s musical was. 

The driver, Sammy as he introduced himself, didn’t ask Klaus a thing about why he was arrested or even appear to be phased by where he’d picked his latest passenger up. The only questions he’d had was if Klaus had a bag and what his name was. It was oddly comforting and Klaus dipped in and out of listening to his chatter as he stared hungrily out at the world, not looking back as the prison dipped out of view. 

“Can I roll down the window?” he asked abruptly. 

“What?” Sammy asked, interrupted from his list of what he was growing in his vegetable garden. “Oh, sure. Go ahead. Anyway, I have sugar snaps, carrots, three variations of lettuce…”

The wind ruffled Klaus’ hair lightly and he closed his eyes, the brightness of the sun still shining through his eyelids. He let his hand rest on the edge of the window, moving his fingers lazily through the stream of air pushed back by the moving car. 

“Ah-ha!” Sammy cried and Klaus jerked upright. 

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you about my newest baby! I just got in this beautiful little pear sapling and⏤”

Klaus relaxed back in his seat, listening to Sammy talk about the rhubarb crisp he’d made for Sunday dinner and taking long slow breaths of the fresh air that poured through the open window. In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of Ben and smiled at him. 

***

At the center, Klaus was greeted by a woman named Rain who, in style at least, looked a lot like Lillian but _more._ Though Klaus guessed with a name like Rain she might have actually grown up on a commune. She was wearing a long loose-fitted linen dress and wooden earrings with a scarf tied elegantly over her hair. The light blue looked striking against her dark skin.

“Do you have anything to unpack?” she asked Klaus as she led him into the building, which looked very much like a normal house on a residential street. 

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she made a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry about the rules about having to come straight here. Do you have anyone who could bring you your things? Clothes and such?”

“Uh, no, um…” 

“That’s okay. We can take you to your apartment or storage locker or wherever. A supervised trip to get personal items is allowed."

“There isn’t anything,” Klaus admitted. 

“If you’re not sure where your things have gone while you were away, I can help you call up your old landlord and see⏤”

“There isn’t anything,” Klaus repeated. “This is it.” He gestured to himself. “I didn’t exactly have a landlord in the traditional sense before I was arrested.”

Rain recovered quickly. “Well, okay then. That simplifies things! Don’t worry, we have a good stock of extra clothes and toiletries here. And in a few days, we can organize an essentials trip to get you some things of your own! Nothing we haven’t done before.” She smiled warmly at Klaus.

It didn’t really do much to make him feel less humiliated. Not that he blamed her.

“This will be your room.” Rain opened the door to reveal a decent-sized bedroom split neatly down the middle with two beds, two dressers, and two desks on each side. It vaguely resembled a college dorm with a slightly homier feel. Half of it was very obviously lived-in, not messy, but covered in band posters and photos. A jacket was thrown over the back of the desk chair and an extra blanket lay on the foot of the bed. 

“You’ll be sharing with Daniel. I believe he’s a couple of years younger than you, but the closest male resident to you in terms of age.”

“Right, thanks.” Klaus looked around the room, unsure of what to do. He stuck his hands in his jacket pocket and found a broken-off stub of a pencil. Klaus opened the top drawer of his new desk and put the pencil inside. “There,” he smiled at Rain, “I’m moved in.” 

She laughed lightly. “Come on, honey. Let’s go see what we can find for you to wear for the next few days.”

***

While going through the racks of old clothing, donations according to Rain, she fretted over finding anything that would work and apologized that they didn’t seem to have anything in his _style_. 

Klaus grimaced. He had never felt so out of place with what he was wearing, not even at the Academy. Had Klaus known ten months ago that he would be arrested, he could have picked a different outfit. His bright pink crop top and dangerously short cut-offs were suddenly embarrassing. He supposed he could have left off the fishnets while getting redressed to go to rehab, but they did complete the look. 

Rain didn't seem the type to get violent with him for his method of self-expression, but that didn't mean she approved. And strangely, Klaus found that he cared what she thought, which was an unfamiliar experience for him. Klaus knew Lillian had vouched for him, and hot shame at the idea of misrepresenting her burned in his stomach. He tugged self-consciously at the hem of his shorts, as if that would help them suddenly cover his ass more fully. He was determined to do her proud. 

Ultimately, they found a few items that fit Klaus reasonably well, though most of the pants were a bit too short, leaving his ankles bare, and the shirts were a little baggy. 

According to Rain, it was because he was too skinny, but dinner would be starting in a half-hour so they could start on fixing all of that. She sent him upstairs to put his things in his room and floated off to help finish up the meal. 

***

By the time Klaus found his way to the dining room everyone else was already sitting around the table. “Sorry,” he muttered, hurrying to the only empty seat left. He’d taken the chance to change into jeans that were slightly too big and a massive sweatshirt with a Monet painting printed on it. Apparently, it was from the MOMA gift shop. 

“You’re perfectly alright,” Rain told him. She seemed genuinely unbothered by his tardiness and it made Klaus uneasy. He preferred people who were clear with their disappointment. For all his faults, Reginald was transparent about that at least. Had he been late for dinner at the Academy, he'd have received his reprimand swiftly.

“This is Klaus,” Rain continued. 

He waved. 

“He’ll be joining everyone for group starting tomorrow.” 

“Welcome,” the woman sitting on Klaus’ right smiled. “I’m Susan, it’s so nice to meet you.” She looked like the stereotype of a middle-aged, white suburban _mom,_ and honestly, it was the most unsettling thing that Klaus had seen in a long time. Her light brown hair was lightly streaked with gray and her hazel eyes were framed by light creases like she had smiled often in her life. Klaus would have felt less uncertain of himself if she looked like Methy Mona who lived in the dumpster behind Smoke. 

“Nice to meet you,” he managed. 

“Daniel,” the boy across from him nodded. 

He looked like someone Klaus would understand. He had inch-wide gauges and his dyed-black hair, unnaturally dark against his pallor, hung low over his eyes. 

Klaus nodded back. 

“We’re going to be roommates, right?”

“Yeah.” Klaus watched him carefully as he responded, searching for signs of a threat.

Daniel shrugged. “Cool. You mind your shit and I’ll mind mine.”

“Fair,” Klaus agreed, slightly relieved. Even if Daniel decided he didn't want to mind his own shit, Klaus was comforted knowing he could take him. Probably. At the very least, they were similar enough in size.

The hulking man who, from what peaked out under his shirt, appeared to have full sleeves, Klaus was less sure on. Or at least, any fight between the two of them would be more difficult. Klaus resolved to keep his distance from the man and one eye on his back. Just to be safe.

He didn't get much of an impression for the last person at the table, a quiet woman perhaps a few years older than he was. Whatever her name was, Klaus missed it. 

The conversation flowed lightly around him but Klaus didn't pay much attention to it after his initial unease at the sound of voices around the dinner table, strange even after his years apart from the Academy. He was far more absorbed by devouring the pasta he was given. It was the best thing he’d eaten in probably close to five years, though perhaps he would have said the same about anything after ten months of prison food. 

After dinner, Rain explained that because it was his first night, Klaus was excused from chore duty and could do whatever he wanted until lights-out at eleven. It was ridiculously early to go to bed, but Klaus was exhausted. Rain left Daniel to explain the shower rules to him and went off to take care of some paperwork. 

Showers were limited to fifteen minutes but Klaus couldn’t care less. It was a private bathroom with a door that he could close (even if he couldn't lock it) and hot water. He washed quickly on autopilot but then stood under the warm spray for another ten minutes, letting the rhythmic pounding of the water against his head and shoulders roll over him in soothing waves. 

He fell asleep on the seemingly impossibly soft mattress, buried under every blanket that he had just for the luxury of it. As he dropped off, wavering between consciousness and dreams, Klaus heard the soft tone of Ben’s voice but he couldn’t make out anything more than his name. 

For the first time in many months, he slept entirely peacefully, without dreams. 

***

Klaus woke up the morning to the first gray of dawn, trickling in through the gap in the curtains. Even with the window covered, it was a comfort to Klaus to know it was there. Carefully, he eased the drapes open just a bit further, allowing him a small glimpse into the world. the sight of it eased a modicum of tenstion from his shoulders.

He slipped silently out of bed in practiced ease and worked his way through a short flow, the familiar movements calming. By the time he finished, the sun had broken over the horizon, casting the world into golden and red burnt brilliance. Daniel was still asleep and Klaus realized he had no idea what the rules about leaving your bedroom were. Presumably, he didn’t have to wait for someone to come let him out, they weren't locked in, but he wasn’t sure he was allowed to roam the halls before seven am either. Deciding to take the cautious route for once, Klaus dressed and made his bed before sitting back down on top of the covers. He leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes, casting out into the spirit realm to find Ben. 

“Hey.”

Klaus opened his eyes. “Hey,” he breathed, barely audible 

“How are you feeling?”

Klaus gestured helplessly. He honestly didn’t know. 

“This place seems nice,” Ben offered. 

He nodded.

“Nervous?”

Klaus shrugged. Which meant yes. 

“You’re going to be fine. Everyone is nervous on their first day.”

“Why are you making this sound like I’m going to kindergarten?”

“Are you not five years old?”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Ha. _Ha._ ”

“In all seriousness though, you’re going to be fine. Just remember to play nice with the other kids and don’t bite!”

Klaus flipped him off and Ben laughed. 

  
  


Daniel’s alarm went off just before eight and he groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the button. He sat up, his hair going in every possible direction, and jumped when he saw Klaus. “Jesus!”

“This is he,” Klaus answered in mock seriousness. 

Daniel rolled his eyes, rubbing his chest. “You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck kind of psychopath are you, sitting up here doing nothing fully dressed?”

“I wasn’t sure what the rules were.” Klaus blushed. 

“You’re allowed to sleep until eight on weekdays, nine-thirty on weekends,” Daniel groaned, flopping back onto his pillows. 

“What time are we allowed out of our rooms?”

Daniel gave him a strange look. “Um? I don’t really think there’s a rule about that? Like, if you’re up in the middle of the night one of the staff will probably tell you to go back to bed unless you’re having an emergency or something. Otherwise, Rain gets up at like five-thirty or something ridiculous. She’s always looking for someone to do sunrise yoga with her.”

“Oh.” Klaus suddenly felt very stupid.

“How long were you up for anyway?”

“Not too long.” He didn’t feel like admitting that he’d been sitting there doing nothing for over an hour because he didn’t know he could leave the room. “When’s breakfast?”

“Official meal is at eight-thirty. But you’re allowed to help yourself to something before then if you’re a crazy person and get up at the ass-crack of dawn like Rain. Eight-thirty breakfast is just if you want, like, eggs or whatever they’re serving.” 

“I guess I’ll go downstairs then.” Klaus glanced at the clock. There was still twenty minutes until ‘breakfast’. 

Daniel waved lazily, his eyes falling closed again.

Klaus was greeted warmly by Rain and the mom-looking woman, Susan, from the night before. They offered him coffee and he accepted gratefully. 

“It’s the only drug we allow here!” Rain laughed. Her hair was unwrapped, trailing down her back in tiny braids. 

Rain asked him a million questions about how his first night was and absolutely nothing personal at all. Klaus was eased into a cautious comfort by that. She repeated essentially everything that Daniel had told Klaus, explaining unprompted that she was an early riser and invited him to do early morning yoga with her any time. When Klaus admitted he was interested, she beamed. 

  
***

Apparently, the residents had the morning free to do what they wanted before ‘group’ at eleven, something that Klaus was not looking forward to. He loved talking, but not about anything that came close to resembling personal. After breakfast, the others dispersed with books or puzzles or what appeared to be letter-writing. Klaus ran his finger along the bookshelf in the living room without really reading any of the titles before wandering off. He explored the basic layout of the house until he understood where everything was, almost unconsciously marking out escape routes in his mind. Just in case. 

On his circles through the building, Klaus kept coming back to the same spot at the back of the house where a large window overlooked the tiny postage stamp of a backyard. The windows were open to let the August sun stream into the house in dazzling warm light. He could smell freshly cut grass somewhere nearby and the heavy fragrant perfume of the potted flowers on the back stoop. Klaus stood still there for several long minutes, captivated by it. 

“You can go out you know.”

Klaus flinched violently, turning around to see Rain hovering near the doorway. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“Sorry!” she apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Klaus was flustered and a little embarrassed that he’d been so startled. “No, you’re good,” he managed to say. 

“I just wanted to let you go know you’re allowed to go outside,” Rain repeated. “You have to stay in the yard, but you don’t need to get special permission to do that.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’re not a prisoner here, Klaus. There are rules about leaving the premises for obvious reasons, and you have to comply with the schedule for therapy and such. But free time is free. You still have a half-hour before you need to be at group if you want to go outside.”

“Thanks.” Klaus didn’t move but he glanced quickly at the door. 

Rain smiled. “I’ll leave you to it.” She picked up a book from the table by the doorway and wandered off again. 

Klaus stared after her, waiting for her to come back, laughing at her joke. She didn't.

Slowly, Klaus turned the doorknob. It wasn’t even locked. He pushed the door open with one quick motion and then froze, waiting. He wasn’t sure why he expected alarms or Rain to pop up and drag him off, but neither happened. 

Shaking his head at himself for being so weird, Klaus slipped outside. He stood just barely a step from the door and closed his eyes, letting it wash over him. It was still city air and he could hear traffic just beyond the sightline of the fenced-in yard, but he drank it like wine. Without really thinking about it, Klaus toed off his shoes and his socks. The cement of the porch was warm and rough under his feet as he took a few quick steps to the grass. 

It curled between his toes and Klaus had to sit down almost immediately. He ran his fingers through the blades. For the first time, he didn’t feel the need to close his eyes to find himself in a happier palace before reaching for Ben. Klaus was too tired to bring him fully into focus for the second time in just a couple of hours, but he could still locate the impression of Ben that, like the spirit of all ghosts, overlapped into the land of the living. 

A second shadow taking the vague shape of a sitting boy was cast across the grass next to Klaus⏤ on the opposite side of Klaus’ actual shadow, an impossible feat by the laws of science. 

“Hey Ben,” Klaus smiled. “Look at us.” 

They sat in comfortable silence there until the mom-looking one, _Susan, Klaus really needed to start using her name before he accidentally called her ‘mom’ to her face,_ stuck her head outside to remind him that therapy started in five. 

Reluctantly, Klaus followed her inside, reminding himself that he could go outside again tomorrow. 

***

“Klaus! It is so wonderful to see you,” Lillian beamed as he appeared in the doorway. She held open her arms and gave him a brief firm hug. “How is your first day going, honey?”

“Good.” Klaus ducked his head in slight embarrassment as the others already gathered looked at him curiously. 

“Good,” Lillian squeezed his shoulder tenderly. “I am so glad to hear that. We’re going to get started in just a moment. No pressure today, okay? I’m not expecting you to share too much on your first day. Just talk about what you’re comfortable with.”

Klaus managed to nod. 

Lillian gave him one last smile before she turned back to the room, clasping her hands together. “Okay, everyone! Let’s get started.”

The rest of the residents found a chair and put away whatever they were working on, tucking bookmarks into pages and turning their attention to Lillian. Klaus dropped into the last available chair in the circle.

Lillian began the group. “As everyone knows, we have a new person with us today.”

Klaus waved in a mirror of himself the night before. 

“So I thought it would be good to start out today by giving some introductions and talking a little bit about our addiction journeys. Pete, would you like to start?”

The huge man spoke, “Might as well. My name is Pete, I’m an alcoholic, but I’ve been sober for two months now. I guess I had my first drink when I was thirteen, just a few sips of beer, but I really started _drinking_ when I was fifteen. Been in and out of treatment for a while now. Messed up my first marriage and my kids and now I’m trying to make the second one work out better. Maybe get my kids to come around for Christmas this year. I heard I have a granddaughter but I haven’t met her yet. Not that I blame her mother for that one.” He hunched his shoulders as he talked, looking down as he mentioned his children. Somehow, despite his six-foot-four frame, he looked small.

“Thank you, Pete,” Lillian said softly. “Journeys to recovery are rarely linear. It’s always disappointing when we fall off the wagon, but what’s important is getting right back on there. I’m proud of you for still fighting Pete, I know it’s been a long battle.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled, gruff and collected again, leaning back in his seat, his tattooed arms crossed in front of him. His usual ruddy expression was flushed an even deeper red.

“Guess I’m next,” Susan spoke before Lillian could call on her. “My name is Susan, I’ve been married for twenty-five years and I have three beautiful children⏤ Sam, Steven, and Sarah. I am here for opioid addiction,” she paused, hesitant. “I had surgery about a year ago, just a minor thing for my carpal tunnel. Typer’s wrists, you know, and I was prescribed some strong painkillers. At first, I didn’t realize how much I was depending on them, it was easy to excuse renewing my prescription. _‘I just needed a little help while I went back to work’_ and all that. 

“When I found myself out of meds a whole two weeks early… well I think I knew then that I had a problem. But,” she hesitated again, looking away, “I didn’t get the help I needed then. I just found other ways to get the pills I needed⏤ I _thought_ I needed⏤ and I’m ashamed to say my relationships suffered because of it. My marriage is damaged and I’ve not been there like I should have for my kids. I have hurt my family very badly and all I want is to make up for my mistake.” Susan wiped tears quickly from her eyes. 

“And how are you doing so far?” Lillian asked gently.

“I’ve been clean for three weeks and four days.” Susan’s voice shook.

“And that’s great! It’s really hard work, Susan. I’m proud of you.”

Susan still did not look at her, twisting her hands in her lap.

“And your husband?” Lillian prompted.

“Jeffery sent me a letter a couple of days ago,” Susan admitted, smiling slightly. “He wants to make things work.”

“That’s great! Your kids?”

Her smile dimmed a little. “Sam sent me a get well card…”

“That’s a great first step, Susan. And remember, it’s still early. Everyone has to heal in their own time.”

“Of course, of course.” Susan quickly wiped her eyes again, shaking herself quickly as she looked back to the circle, smiling. “Well, just look at me, carrying on like this, hogging everyone’s time. My apologies. Lauren, honey, I believe it’s your turn.” She turned to the woman on her right, apologetic. 

“It’s alright, Mrs. Johnson,” the woman said stiffly, her sleek black hair swishing lightly as she turned her head. Her bronze-brown skin was flawless and her makeup light and professional. With her neat fitting black dress and watching heels, Klaus would have taken her for the shrink in charge of the meeting, had he not known Lillian was the group leader.

“Oh, call me Susan, please!”

“Susan,” she echoed back, not looking like she was about to take up the offer. “My name is Lauren. I am addicted to anxiety medication and sleeping pills and have been clean for two weeks and six days. I was first prescribed anxiety medication in high school, though I only took extra occasionally, on days when I really needed it, like right before a major test or game. I played varsity volleyball all four years and was on the swim team.” She rattled off the information like it was a practiced pitch. Perhaps it was.

She continued, “My workload in college and then law school was demanding, and I continued my use in much the same manner, though perhaps I tended to increase my dose more frequently. I started to use sleeping pills, as recommended, at that time. For some time in my professional career, I was able to keep my use at a consistent level, only dipping in before an important meeting or presentation. However, after I was promoted to junior partner last fall, the pressure became too much and I admit that my self-medication got a little... out of hand. After my job became threatened by my use I realized that I needed to get help.” Lauren gave a small nod as she finished, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“Thank you, Lauren. Abusing prescribed medication as a way to handle the pressures of life is a very common occurrence. Overcoming these challenges is very difficult, but you have done some commendable work. We all applaud your efforts.” 

“Thank you, Lillian," she said stifly. 

“Daniel?”

“I’ve been clean for a week and half, before that I did coke. I took my first hit when I was sixteen. I’d just run away from my tenth foster home and was looking for something to fill the void of love and acceptance that my absent parents left in me.” 

“That’s a weirdly specific analysis,” Klaus commented.

“I’ve been to a lot of therapy,” Daniel told him flatly. 

“Klaus, please refrain from using words like ‘weird’. We want to create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone to share without judgment,” Lillian reprimanded him kindly.

 _Shit._ “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, we all make mistakes. But going back to you, Daniel. I am glad that you have come to recognize the sources of your addiction. It sounds like you have been doing a lot of good work one-on-one with your psychologist. Thank you for being so open and sharing such personal information.” 

“Sure.”

Finally, Lillian turned to Klaus. “Would you please share why you are here and how long you’ve been clean?”

“I’m Klaus. I’ve been clean for ten months.”

“That’s impressive!” Susan sounded encouraging as she smiled at him from her chair. 

“It’s a bit harder to get high in prison.”

Her face froze. “Oh, I’m sorry⏤”

“It’s okay,” Klaus assured her. He generally didn’t believe in apologizing for the truth. “My stuff of choice is heroin. But most opioids work⏤ morphine, a brush or two with fentanyl, cocaine… I ’d take pretty much anything I could get. I’m here because, well I got caught.”

Daniel snorted quietly.

“And like… being a dealer-slash-whore isn’t a good long term career choice.”

Susan looked extremely uncomfortable and Lauren’s eyes betrayed her shock, even as she kept her face straight. Pete appeared unfazed and Daniel nodded at him with a concerning look of understanding. 

“Klaus, we do not speak about ourselves in such terms,” Lillian said kindly but firmly. “Positives only here.”

“Sorry. I’m also here because Lillian stuck her neck out for me. Which I… really appreciate.” He shifted uncomfortably, unused to being genuine. “So, thanks.”

“No need to thank me, Klaus. I’m just doing my job.”

“So, uh, how old were you when you started using, dear?” Susan seemed to have recovered a little bit as she forced herself to smile at him. 

“I had my first hit when I was twelve.” 

Even Daniel looked surprised. “ _Twelve_?” 

Klaus shifted awkwardly. “Essentially, yeah.”

“Would you like to share anything else, Klaus? If you’re not comfortable…” Lillian was gentle as she took control of the conversation again. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Klaus wasn’t sure why suddenly felt the need to almost defend what had been done to him. “I broke my jaw and I was given morphine for the pain. Things… got out of hand after that.”

“Who on Earth allowed a twelve-year-old to use _morphine_ to the extent that they became addicted? If anything, it should only be used in the most extreme cases due to very severe pain⏤” Lauren was looking indignant. 

“My dad.”

“That’s fucked up, dude.”

Klaus got the impression that, from Daniel, that was saying a lot. “Yeah,” Klaus agreed blandly.

“Your old man was a doctor?” Pete asked, raising one eyebrow. 

He paused. “I mean, kind of?”

“Kind of?” Lauren was looking very lawyer-ish. 

“He was more of a scientist.” Klaus winced internally as he realized that did not sound any better or more normal. “The morphine had an interesting effect on a… ah… _genetic abnormality_ that I have. More research was deemed necessary.” 

“ _That_ is fucked up,” Daniel announced. 

“Essentially, yes,” Klaus agreed. 

“And your father’s _work_ was not overseen by anyone?” Lauren looked like she wanted to whip out a pad and start to take notes. 

Somehow Klaus didn’t think that an artificially advanced chimpanzee forever indebted to Reginald and the android he built himself counted as _oversight._ “Uh, no.”

“That’s… highly illegal.”

Klaus shrugged. 

“Was there ever someone who intervened on your behalf?” Susan asked slowly, a wrinkle between her brows.

“One of my brothers tried to help,” Klaus spoke quietly, looking down. “Ben.”

“I’m glad you had someone on your side, Klaus.” Lillian smiled. Klaus had tried to avoid talking about his siblings with her as much as possible, for their sakes if nothing else. “Have you been in contact with Ben at all recently? Maybe he would be able to help on your journey to stay clean⏤” 

Well yes, but telling people that was a bit complicated. Klaus went with half the truth. “He died. He was sixteen. My brother Diego tried to help once too, but after I started using again we stopped talking. He didn't pick up the last time I tried to call.” 

“Oh.” 

Klaus wondered if being the most pitied person in a half-way house was his lowest point or not. “Yeah,” he said, awkward and uncomfortable. 

“So, uh, how, or when, did you get out? Of your dad’s house I mean,” Daniel asked. 

“I left when I was eighteen, but I was addicted by then. So…” he trailed off, letting them fill in the rest while he stared down at his hands.

“Thank you, Klaus. It takes a lot of courage to share such personal details. I don’t want to overwhelm you, so we can move on to open share⏤ unless you have anything else you would like to talk about?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Alright, so has anyone had a struggle or achievement to share today?”

Klaus didn’t really participate in the rest of the meeting, deep in the familiar feeling of instant regret for having shared too much with people that he didn’t really know. Usually, he solved that emotion with a drink or a hit. 

He didn’t think that would be highly approved of in this setting. 

  
  


After dismissing the group, Lillian pulled Klaus aside to check in again. Honestly, after being asked so often, Klaus didn’t know how he felt anymore. He didn’t usually pay that much close attention to that kind of thing. No, emotions were for being dramatic and funny, unless they were real, then they were for burying as deep as they could go and ignoring until you died. 

“I’m fine, I guess.” 

“It’s okay to not be fine,” Lillian prompted. 

Klaus smiled a little bit. “Thanks, but really. I’m good.”

“Good."

And fuck, Klaus could never get over how Lillian seemed to _mean_ everything she said. Like she just honestly _cared,_ and for no other reason that she was a good person. 

"Thank you again for your vulnerability, Klaus. You made some fantastic steps for your first day. For next time, can you prepare an achievement or challenge to share?”

“Sure.” Klaus didn’t really think it was an option not to. 

Lillian smiled. “Wonderful. Now I have to get going, but it was so lovely to see you, Klaus. I’m really looking forward to our next session. Take care of yourself, okay? And remember, everyone here wants to help you. You just have to let them.”

All he managed in response to that was a tight nod.

With a soft, affection look, Lillian gave him one last hug and made her departure, Klaus walking her to the door. 

***

Klaus had his first personal therapy session after lunch. Lauren showed him upstairs to one of the rooms that he hadn’t been to yet, leaving him at the door of the office. Klaus knocked carefully, trying to keep from shrinking down like he did as a little boy of thirteen. 

“Come in!” The voice was warmer than Reginald’s had ever been, but it still made Klaus’ stomach turn.

He cautiously opened the door into a cozy room, bathed in light from the afternoon sun shining through the western window. 

“Good afternoon,” the therapist greeted, standing from the armchair he was sitting. He smiled and extended his head to Klaus. “I”m Dr. Brooks, but you can call me Noah."

Based on his bushy beard, Klaus thought the name suited him well. Though when he slid on his round glasses, he took on a more Santa-like appearance. 

“Hi,” Klaus shook his hand tentatively.

“You must be Klaus, yes?” He asked, already gesturing for Klaus to take a seat across from him. 

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. Do you mind if I take notes?” Noah asked, picking up a clipboard from the little table next to his chair. 

Klaus was already beginning to find his practice of asking questions that weren’t really questions annoying. “Sure, go for it.”

“Alight. So tell me, Klaus, what are you looking to get out of our sessions?” He waited, his pen poised over his paper. 

That was unexpected. “Uh… I don’t know?”

“Have you ever been to therapy before, Klaus?”

“Not really. Just the one evaluation.”

“Yes, I do have the statement that Dr. Kern provided. But that was the only time you’ve been?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s alright, I can help you get started with some prompts and we can see where we go. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect. How about we start with how you’re adjusting to life at Healing Sage.”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Could you elaborate at all?”

Klaus shifted in his seat, unconsciously picking at his nails. “Good. The people here are nice. It’s a lot better than prison. I can go outside.”

“Do you enjoy being outside?”

Klaus nodded. “It’s easier to breathe,” he explained. 

“And what do you mean by that, Klaus?”

 _Well, that got uncomfortable quickly._ Klaus mentally smacked his forehead. Grudgingly he admitted, “I don’t feel as… trapped.”

“Do you feel trapped here?”

Klaus struggled to find a way to explain it.

“Klaus?" Noah prompted. "Is there something going on here that’s making you feel uncomfortable? Or is it just being inside in general?”

“I,” Klaus finally started, speaking slowly as he tried to form a response that didn't make him sound insane. “Being stuck somewhere where there are too many rules… it reminds me of being a kid.”

“When you lived with your father,” Noah said softly.

“Yeah.” Klaus glanced at the window as he spoke. The sight of the tree branches swaying gently in the wind calmed him.

“Can you tell me about him?”

Klaus turned back to Noah. “It’s pretty simple I guess. He expected a lot. I couldn’t give him much. I was always a disappointment to him.”

“What do you mean by that, Klaus?”

“I mean, he told me that. That I was a disappointment. So he was a clear communicator at least.” He looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know. I was always less talented than my siblings. I was stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Klaus,” Noah interrupted. “Negative self-talk is the enemy of good mental health. We’re going to work on thought stopping.”

“I really was dumb though,” Klaus told him, needing Noah to understand what kind of a person he was. “I couldn’t wrap my head around some of the things that my brother⏤”

“Klaus, did someone tell you that you are dumb?”

Klaus didn’t respond. 

“Did you father?”

He gave a tiny shrug. Maybe not quite in as many words, but the message had gotten across quite clearly. 

“Let’s backtrack a moment. How do you feel about your father, Klaus?”

“I hate him,” Klaus said definitively before realizing that that might not make him sound like a normal stable individual. 

Noah didn’t appear bothered. “Then Klaus, why do you believe the things that he told you?”

“Because they’re true.”

Noah looked at him sadly. “I don’t think that is so, Klaus.”

“You’ve only known me for ten minutes. Just wait,” Klaus joked hollowly. 

Noah frowned. “As I said, we’re going to work on positive self-talk, Klaus. I’m going to give you an assignment for next week. I want you to think of one thing that you like about yourself.”

Klaus looked at him incredulously. 

“Just one positive thing. Anything at all. It can be as simple as something, like, I don’t know, _I like my hair._ And while you’re doing that, I also want you to stop yourself every time you notice negative self-thoughts and think about your one positive thing instead. Do you think you can do that?”

It sounded dumb to Klaus but he nodded. “Sure.” 

“Good. Let me know how it goes okay?”

“Yep.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about today?”

“I’m good,” Klaus stood quickly, ready to get out of there. 

“Alright, I’ll let you go a bit early because it’s our first session. Remember your assignment, Klaus,” Noah instructed, standing as well. 

“Right.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Klaus.” He extended his hand again and Klaus gave it one quick shake. 

“Same.”

Noah smiled a little. “You’re free to go.”

Klaus escaped as quickly as he thought would be appropriate. 

***

Klaus had one final meeting that day with Rain. She called him into her office, which had a small coffee table instead of a desk and bean bags for chairs. Klaus warmed to her a little more as she invited him to sit down. 

“So, Klaus, I just wanted to go over the plan for your program.”

“Alright.”

“You’ve already experienced group and personal therapy sessions today, so you have an idea of how those are going to work. You had both today because it’s your first day. Otherwise, you will only have long-form sessions of one or the other on alternating biases. For example, you will have a full group session on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday and then a full personalized therapy session on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. On personal therapy days we have a short group session to check in with each other at the end of the day, but those only last thirty or so minutes. Make sense?”

“Got it.”

“Wonderful, now as for how you’ll be spending the rest of the time. We have a chore schedule here so everyone chips in equally. This helps you to gain a sense of normality, achievement, and responsibility. It will mostly be light cleaning and helping with preparing meals. Sound fair?”

Klaus nodded.

"Beyond that, we want to help you gain the skills you’ll need to get back into society. So I was thinking⏤ ” 

“What does that actually mean? Skill for society or whatever,” Klaus blurted out, cutting her off before wincing. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Klaus. You’re allowed to have questions. This portion of rehabilitation is different for everyone. It can mean everything from taking some college classes to learning how to budget your household.”

“Makes sense I guess.”

“What skills do you feel like you need, Klaus?”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. “All of them.”

She gave a half-smile. “Give yourself a bit of credit, Klaus. You’ve been on your own for some time.”

“I didn’t exactly do the best job of taking care of myself,” Klaus pointed out. 

“Have you ever rented an apartment?”

“Not by myself. My… boyfriend,” he stole a quick look at Rain to gauge her reaction. She didn’t appear to even register it as something notable. “My boyfriend at the time was the one on the lease for our first place. I did take care of most of the expenses later on but⏤” he broke off, unable to make eye-contact with her. 

“But what, Klaus? There is no judgment here.”

“The way I paid for it was a bit less than legal.”

“Okay,” Rain nodded. “Have you ever had a legal job, Klaus?”

“No,” he admitted quietly.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Rain told him gently. “You are definitely not the first I’ve seen in that situation. We can definitely make employment skills one of your goals. It’s very common here.”

“Thanks,” Klaus uttered, still looking down at his hands, digging his nails into his palms harshly. 

“I’m just going to make a note of that, okay?” Rain told him, picking up a cloth-bound notebook. 

Klaus nodded and she scribbled something down.

“Have you had any higher education?”

“No.”

“Would you like to? We can get you signed up for some online classes.”

“I don’t think I would be eligible,” Klaus admitted. 

“How do you mean?” 

“I don’t really have a high school diploma,” he cringed at himself in embarrassment. 

“Did you drop out?” Rain asked, apparently unphased.

“I was… homeschooled.”

Rain smiled. “Well that still counts, you should have an equivalency degree then.”

“Yeah, uh, no.”

“What?” Rain looked confused for the first time.

“My education was more… untraditional.” Klaus had learned anatomy by what part of the body was most vulnerable to attack. He studied chemistry by building and diffusing bombs and geography by traveling across the world to track down escaped convicts. He’d read poems in Ancient Greek instead of a traditional English class filled with _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or persuasive essays. 

His education was carried and broad, yet lacked the fundamentals that any average child received at their basic public school. In short, it was totally useless in most real-world applications.

“So you don’t have any type of degree?” Rain asked slowly.

“Nope.”

She brightened again, taking on her usual cheery attitude. “Well then, I guess we’ll have to set you up to get your GED! If you want to do so, that is. Though the choice is yours, I do recommend it.”

Klaus hadn’t really thought about it before. Then again, he hadn’t had a life plan before. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Excellent.” 

They also decided to work on basic personal finance skills as well to start off with. Rain drew him up a basic weekly schedule of therapy and actives before Klaus was released to go help set the table for dinner, feeling as exhausted as if he’d had a full day of endurance training with Reginald. 

That night, he collapsed into bed early again, falling asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are!  
> Things are looking up!  
> Klaus is getting help!  
> Strange, I know!  
> But it's great! ( I hope!)
> 
> Anyway,  
> I hope you all enjoyed this update. Please leave any and all feedback in the comments below and have a wonderful week!  
> Love,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/)


	24. Faith, Trust, and Kicking Pixie Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus adjusts to rehab and to the concept that there might actually be decent people in the world.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> Hey! I usually don't share a lot about my personal life in the notes but the last four (4) days have been, uh, interesting. so this is everything that has happened since I last updated four (4) days ago.  
> – found out someone at work has covid  
> – so I had to get tested  
> –which took 3 hours (and also while I was waiting very suspicious man gave me a flyer for testing at his "independent lab".... I may have met a serial killer or a super villain)  
> – I couldn't go to in-person class because of my possible exposure so I fell very behind on an important project  
> – one of the washing machines in my building started on fire at like 11:30 at night (everything is totally fine no one was hurt at all and it was actually a little funny tbh)  
> –(also when the fire department gave us the all clear to go inside I realized it was officially Friday the 13th lol)  
> –but the fire means no laundry services in my building for like a week  
> –and also I had no internet for two days  
> – learned my job isn't paying anyone for the weeks we're closed and I have to file unemployment  
> –which I got denied last time I filed for  
> –my family got mad I didn't come to early Thanksgiving dinner...while I was waiting to find out if I had covid  
> –I found out I don't have covid!!! Yay!!!!
> 
> So yeah. All that in 4 days... I think I preferred it when my life was boring lol. 
> 
> Anyway, here's Klaus

Klaus woke up around quarter to six on his second morning at Healing Sage. Remembering what Daniel had said, he put on a clean pair of sweatpants and went downstairs as quietly as he could. Klaus tiptoed through the house and down to the backdoor. Glancing outside, he saw Rain stretched out her yoga mat, much to his relief. He slipped through the door as silently as he could but Rain still turned towards the sound. 

“Klaus,” she spoke softly. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, fine.” He doubted himself as he changed the foot his weight was on anxiously. “I was wondering if I could join you?”

“Of course!” She beamed. “Shall I get you a mat?” Rain asked, already standing. 

“Oh, you don’t need to,”

“It’s not an issue, Klaus. We have plenty here for the purpose of residents using them. I’ll show you where the equipment closet is.” 

They went through a flow together, quiet except for the sound of their breathing and the birds that slowly woke up around them as light tinged the world pink. At the end, Rain lay down on her mat and closed her eyes, taking a moment to herself. Klaus sat in his now customary position, his feet and palms flat on the ground and his head ripped up towards the sky. His toes and fingers curled in the soft grass and he breathed in the fresh scent of the grass and flowers. 

With Rain beside him, Klaus realized that he couldn’t speak to Ben and could have hit himself for forgetting something so basic. He allowed Ben through all the same, flashing him one the hand signs that Reginald had taught them. 

_You okay?_

_Yes._ Ben signed back. It was unnecessary for him to sign-up, Rain couldn't hear him, bu it felt appropriate. _You okay?_

_Yes._

“We’re going to have to figure out a better way to do this,” Ben noted dryly. 

Klaus rolled his eyes. _Obviously._ Reginald hadn’t taught them that sign, but they had made up a few of their own that the military hadn’t thought to cover. It was a more personal language than standard military sign or ASL. There were only a handful of words to it, just the essential things that siblings would need to say to each other while infiltrating an underground lab.

Things like; _obviously, you’re an idiot, shut up, fuck off_ ⏤ though that sign already existed. 

Rain stirred next to him and Klaus quickly signed, _Later,_ and let Ben go. 

He went back inside with Rain and helped her to make coffee. They sat in the kitchen making small talk while they waited for the others to wake up, the world filled with peaceful calm. 

***

“I’m bisexual,” Daniel blurted at the end of Klaus’ third day.

Klaus paused, his shirt half-way off, sliding down his arms.“Okay?” He glanced at his roommate in confusion. 

“And if you have a problem with that,” Daniel continued, his bravado transparently false, “Then you can go fuck yourself.”

Klaus pulled his shirt the rest of the way, dropping it into his dirty basket. “Honestly that’s a bit a relief.”

Daniel obviously wasn’t expecting that response. “What?”

“As a pansexual genderless disaster myself, I generally make it a habit to avoid straight people at all costs. It’s a relief I won’t have to room with one for four months.” His tone was sarcastic but the smile Klaus gave Daniel was genuine. “I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you?” he joked. 

“No,” Daniel responded, a private smile curling the corners of his lips upward. “No problem.”

They went back to getting ready for bed, the silence between them warmer than it had been the nights previously. 

***

In the early morning of his fourth day, Klaus had his first nightmare since coming to rehab. He woke in the dark room with a strangled scream, sitting up quickly in bed. Klaus curled around himself, clutching his chest while his heart beat frantically. He took a few shaky breaths, trying to steady himself. 

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

“Klaus?” Daniel’s call was slurred with confusion. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” he gasped. 

“Woah, hey. What’s going on?” Daniel sounded more awake as he slid out of his bed. The lamp between their beds was flicked on, illuminating the room in yellow light. In his side vision, Klaus could see Daniel crossing the room to stand by his bed. 

“Nothing,” he insisted quickly. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, dude.” Daniel tried to put his hand on Klaus’ shoulder. 

He flinched despite himself. 

Daniel quickly retracted his outstretched arm. “Sorry!” He took a few steps back, giving Klaus more room. 

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Klaus muttered, half to himself. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” 

Klaus couldn’t think of a response to that. He focused on his breathing. 

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

“Was it a nightmare?” Daniel asked softly. 

Klaus hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly. 

“Oh. I get those.” 

Klaus looked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Memories… stuff inspired by memories… other stuff. They suck.”

“Yeah,” Klaus laughed roughly. “Understatement.”

“Is there anything that helps you with them?” Daniel asked gently. 

Klaus blushed. 

“It’s okay,” Daniel assured him.

“I usually prefer to sleep with some kind of light on, but it’s okay, you don’t have to⏤”

“We can leave the lamp on,” Daniel interrupted. 

“You don’t have to⏤”

“Klaus, it’s okay.”

Klaus glanced at Daniel. His expression appeared sincere. “Are you sure? It’s pretty childish.” His whole face burned at having to confess his weakness. 

“Let me show you something.” Daniel crossed back to his own bed. He pulled a small scrap of fabric out from under his pillow. Returning, he placed it in Klaus’ hand. “This is my security blanket⏤ kind of. It’s what’s left of this old scarf one of my nice foster moms gave me. I used to wish that I got to stay with her forever. It’s… comforting when I have a nightmare. Do you think that makes me a baby?”

Klaus pressed it carefully back into Daniel’s hand. “No. Of course not.”

“Then it’s fine for you to need a light, Klaus.”

“It won’t bother you?”

Daniel considered it. “Definitely not for tonight. Tomorrow we can ask if there is something maybe a little smaller than Rain could hook us up with, but even if she can’t, I’ve slept in a lot more uncomfortable situations. This is nothing. And if you, like, need it, then it’s what we’ll do.” He blushed a little bit, as if embarrassed by his compassion. 

“Thank you,” Klaus whispered. 

“No problem.”

They smiled at each other shyly, the way two people who were unused to being genuine do. 

“Did you, uh, want to talk about it?” Daniel asked. “Your dream?”

"No,” Klaus said quickly. “No, I’m good.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Gotta save something for therapy material,” Klaus joked hallowly.

Daniel laughed a little at that. “Fair point.”

“I’m exhausted,” Klaus admitted. 

“Same. Let’s go back to sleep.” Daniel said it like it was nothing, like he was unbothered by being woken up or needing to comfort his full-grown adult roommate after a bad dream. He acted like everything was normal and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Like Klaus was not shameful or pathetic. 

Klaus let himself relax further, Daniel's words slowly seeping in so that he could start to believe them. 

Making no more of it, Daniel went back to his own bed. “Night, Klaus,” he murmured, laying down. He curled up under his blankets and dropped off to sleep fairly quickly, evidently unbothered by the light. 

Klaus lay awake for a bit longer, focusing on his breathing until he was fully calm again. 

"You okay?” Ben asked when he finally materialized. 

“Yeah,” Klaus answered, for once being totally honest. “Yeah, I am.”

With his brother watching over him, and the comfort of the light and the boy across the room, Klaus slowly fell asleep again, unbothered the rest of the night by his demons. 

***

On Klaus’ fifth day, Rain told him that he’d been approved for an essentials run to get some properly fitting clothes. Sammy, the driver who brought Klaus to the facility, was happy to see him again and update them both on how his newest grandchild had recently taken his first steps. Klaus listened to his gentle excitement with half an ear while he watched the world pass through the window, still unused to being allowed out.

At the thrift store, Rain told Klaus, “You have a budget of seventy-five dollars. Sorry it’s not more, but we run on donations as you know. Hopefully, that will be enough to get you started at least.”

Klaus couldn’t remember ever having seventy-five dollars just to spend on clothes. The majority of whatever cash he’d had before had gone to drugs, food, or occasionally rent. 

“Pick whatever you want,” Rain told him. “Though I’m not sure how much we’ll be able to get for you for a winter wardrobe in a few months so try to pick some versatile items.” 

“Right.” 

She smiled. “I’ll do a little browsing myself. Let me know if you need anything.” Rain went off towards the women’s section and Klaus was left to himself. He began flicking through the racks of men’s clothing, picking out a pair of black skinny jeans. He went through the shirts and managed to find a couple in bright colors or interesting patterns. Klaus glanced at the women’s section somewhat longingly. 

Rain hadn’t said anything about the outfit Klaus was wearing when he arrived, but he wasn’t sure if she would approve of her charitable funds being used to buy a new skirt. Almost as if summoned, Rain seemingly materialized by Klaus’ side. 

“You know,” she said and he jumped, “I meant what I said about you buying anything you wanted. Part of our job at rehab is helping you to live your best life as who you are without drugs. And we don’t have any dress code at Healing Sage. Well,” she backtracked a bit, “you have to have all your _bits_ covered, but that’s about it.”

Klaus gave her a wavering smile.

“So if you want to shop in the so-called ‘women’s section’, Klaus, feel free. I was just going to see if I could find any good button-ups in the men’s.” Rain patted his arm and went back to her shopping. 

Klaus faltered, watching Rain. She appeared intent on her shopping. Slowly, cautiously, as if walking through a minefield, Klaus made his way over to the women’s section, glancing back at Rain once or twice. She didn’t seem to notice. Somewhat reassured, Klaus started shifting through the racks for something that would fit him. 

Klaus left with two new pairs of jeans, a black and green plaid skirt, six shirts, two sweaters, a sundress, one pair of new tennies, and a pair of large chunky black leather boots. 

“Thank you,” he told Rain in the car on the way back to the center. He clutched the bag of clothes tightly to his chest. 

“You're more than welcome.” Rain smiled at him in the rearview mirror. 

***

After Klaus' disastrous first turn on dinner duty, Pete, who Klaus learned was a _professional baker_ of all things, taught Klaus how to properly hold a knife to cut vegetables for dinner. To his surprise, Klaus found that he actually enjoyed helping in the kitchen. It brought up memories of Grace floating around the Academy as she whipped together incredible meals, sneaking Klaus little bites. She used to call him her “taste tester” with a wink. 

He stopped hanging around her like that around the time he was thirteen and Reginald’s experiments had gotten serious. Sweeping the veg that he’d prepped into a pan, Klaus felt a twinge of regret for that. Despite everything, Klaus found he missed her, and wished he had more memories of her like that rather than in the Crypt. But there was no point in dwelling on the past that could not be changed. It was too late for Klaus to be anything to his family but an absent disappointment. 

He sniffed and made a quick joke about his watery eyes being from the onions. 

***

Lauren volunteered to help Klaus fill out the paperwork for his GED program, claiming that she missed having something to do and it would remind her of being at work. Klaus wasn’t about to argue with that as she took the computer from him. 

“Okay, so you just need to put in your social security information here⏤”

“Oh, I don’t have that.”

Lauren blinked at him. “What?”

“I don’t have a social security number."

“You mean you don’t know your number?”

“No, I mean I don’t have one.”

Lauren massaged her temple. “Klaus, everyone has a social security number.”

“Yeah, I _don’t._ ” 

“If you were born in the US then you have⏤”

"I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t what?”

“Born in the US. Adopted,” he added at her stare of confusion. 

“Okay, then you were assigned a number when you were adopted.”

“Yeah, no.”

"Klaus, I am sure that⏤”

“My adoption was… untraditional.”

“What do you mean by that? What type of adoption could you possibly have had?”

“My dad, adoptive dad I mean, bought me.”

" _Bought_ you?” Lauren gaped at him.

“Yeah,” Klaus cringed. “It didn’t exactly go through the normal channels.”

Lauren was still staring at him.

“Oh, and by the way, I don’t have a birth certificate either. Does that matter?" 

Lauren had to walk away.

Eventually, Lauren had recovered enough to figure out what to do. She called up a law school friend she knew who worked in immigration. Her friend agreed to take Klaus’ case pro bono without much convincing. Apparently, it was an interesting enough situation that she wanted to work on it regardless of the pay.

Her friend, Rachel, advised Klaus very carefully about what to do. Technically speaking, he was an illegal immigrant, and with his record, he was vulnerable to deportation. 

“Are you sure that you were brought here illegally?” she asked. “There is no documentation at all?”

Klaus slowly shook his head. “As far as I know.”

“How did that happen?”

Klaus hesitated. 

“You can tell me, Klaus. I’m on your side.”

“We have confidentiality, right?” he asked, glancing towards the closed door.

“Right,” Rachel said slowly, her curiosity showing despite her best efforts to remain professionally distanced.

“Okay.” Klaus took a deep breath and the whole truth poured out of him. 

When he finished, Rachel took one long blink before nodding crisply. “Alright. So it seems like your father would probably be powerful enough to get you into the country without using the proper channels, and I agree that it is likely that he did. However, there is a chance that he was able to pay someone off to either obtain legal or false documentation for you anyway. I can contact him and demand your papers.”

“No!” Klaus said quickly. “I don’t want to have to talk to him.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “On the off-chance that he does have documentation, it would be the best course of action. Besides, I can handle the interactions. You don’t have to speak to him at all.”

Klaus hesitated. “Just, don’t believe everything he says, alright?” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. “He’ll try to tell you I can’t make decisions by myself but, I can.”

Rachel frowned. “Of course you can. Why would he insist otherwise? Do you mean your addiction has caused mistrust?”

“No. He, uh, technically has a conservatorship.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Why on Earth does he have that?”

Klaus shrugged. “Well, no one ever really sat down and explained the whole thing to me, but basically drugs and⏤” he hesitated, glancing at the door as if worried someone would be standing there to listen in. 

“And?” Rachel prompted gently. 

“I’m not sure exactly what he told the judge originally,” Klaus explained slowly. “But I know he said something about mental health. I’m guessing he claimed I was suicidal.” 

“Were you?” Rachel asked. 

He looked at her scrutinizingly.

“I need to know all of the facts, Klaus,” she told him. “The answer isn’t going to change if I help you or not, but I need to know everything if I’m going to put together a good case.”

“Not… like he claimed.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow.

With one more glance around him, Klaus carefully exposed one wrist. The scars, now years old, still stood out too prominently on his pale skin. He heard Rachel take a small breath. “Those are because he tied me down to drug me, and I fought,” Klaus told her quietly. “He told them that I… cut myself or something.”

There was a long pause. When Rachel spoke again, her voice was like iron. “We are _not_ letting him take custody of you again, Klaus. It may not be my area of specialty, but even I know this conservatorship is bullshit.”

Klaus looked up in surprise. She didn’t seem the type to swear.

“That type of guardianship is for people with Alzheimer's or a severe disability. Not fully capable adults someone wants to control, drug habit or otherwise. This is completely illegal and a fucking _human rights_ violation.”

Klaus took in her look of fiery determination and barely concealed rage. It was odd to have that kind of passion on his behalf and not aimed at him. He just shrugged. Human rights violations weren't anything new as far as his father was involved. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rachel continued. “Have you tried to overturn it before?”

“Kind-of? It’s been brought up in other court stuff. Right now I’m technically in the temporary custody of Healing Sage. The conversatorship is supposed to be reevaluated after I’m done here or something. I don't know. I've only been in federal court and I guess it's a state court thing?"

She nodded thoughtfully. “Right. Well, I’m going to do my best to get your documentation now so you can start building towards a life without your father. I’m not the most qualified to help with the specific legal battle that is conservatorship, but I have a few friends I could call. I’m sure someone would be more than willing to help you out when the time comes.”

Klaus was stunned. “I won’t be able to pay⏤”

She waved his concern off. “It’s no problem. The people I consider friends are the ones who want to use the law to make the world a better place. Lots of them are involved in victim advocacy and non-profit work. Someone will be able to help you.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say other than a shocked whisper of, “Thank you. I can’t⏤”

“No need.” She smiled slightly, her expression softening for just a moment. In the next, her professional mask was neatly back in place. “I'm just doing my job,” Rachel assured him as she stood and shook his hand. “I will get back to you later this week with an update on the situation. Pleasure doing business with you, Klaus.”

He shook her hand in mild bemusement, finding it a little funny that she was treating him a paying client. 

Rachel swept out of the house, her heels tapping lightly against the wooden floor and her phone already to her ear, making calls that sounded important. 

***

Klaus realized shortly after returning to the center that, in his relief that Rain wouldn’t police his clothing, he failed to think about the reactions of the other residents. On any usual day, he wouldn’t give two shits if someone didn’t approve of his wardrobe. But despite what Ben seemed to believe, Klaus had developed some semblance of a survival instinct, and he knew he would have to spend the next four months in close quarters with the other residents. If anyone had a problem with him, things would become very uncomfortable very quickly. Klaus wasn’t worried about Daniel, but Pete made him nervous, his considerable size advantage a not-insignificant factor. 

It took five days for Klaus to work up the courage to put on the sundress he’d bought with Rain. He waited to get dressed until he was alone, Daniel and everyone else having gone to breakfast. Still, his hands shook as he adjusted the pale yellow skirt around his legs.

Paranoia clutched his lungs, digging long fingers through the tender muscle, squeezing out the air until it was difficult to breathe. Klaus fought the urge to rip it all off and forced himself to put on his boots. Feeling literally taller, he marched himself to the bathroom. As Klaus applied his eyeliner (a gift Lillian had slipped him after group a few days before) he gave himself a pep talk in the mirror. 

“Klaus, stop acting like a little scared bitch and start acting like a bad bitch. You’ve spent too long fighting for the right to do whatever the fuck you want to do with your own goddamn body. You look cute as hell, and you’re going to march right downstairs like the badass punk you are.”

He could almost hear Ben laughing. 

Klaus grumbled, running his fingers through his hair, musing the curls. As his finger caught a snarl, pulling on his scalp painfully, he was transported instantly to the Academy, Reginald’s fist clenched in his hair. 

_That word_ echoed like a ghost through his memories. 

He sagged heavily against the sink, biting down hard on his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to keep from crying. _I should just take it off,_ he thought and reached for the zipper of his dress. 

Klaus caught his reflection in the mirror. His head was lowered, his shoulders curved forward in shame. 

_No, I won’t._ His own childhood voice filled with steel and determination responded. 

“No,” the present Klaus said aloud. He forced himself to straighten up, holding his head high. “Fuck you, Reginald.” 

Klaus indeed marched himself straight, or maybe the best word was _gay,_ downstairs to the kitchen. 

“Oh, good,” Rain said, looking up at his entrance. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Sorry I was late.” Klaus wavered for a moment, casting a quick survey of everyone’s reactions to his outfit. 

Daniel had glanced up at his arrival before returning to his crossword, totally unphased. Susan smiled at him in what seemed to be a distinct motherly way that he felt like he should understand but didn’t. At any rate, it didn’t seem like she was bothered. Lauren’s eyebrows had risen and fallen almost in one motion like she had transitioned from surprise to amiable acceptance within the span for two seconds. Pete commented, in what appeared to be total sincerity, “Nice dress, looks cool with the boots. ” He smiled at Klaus and went back to his eggs. 

“Take a seat.” Rain nudged out the chair next to her for him to use. 

The weight of almost a decade of shame lifted off him, Klaus floated across the kitchen to join them. 

***

Eventually, Klaus realized that the best time to talk to Ben was going to be when everyone else was asleep, much like it was in prison. As soon as Daniel drifted off, Klaus would get out of bed and sit at the foot of his bed, calling Ben to him. After the months of practice, it didn’t take Klaus long to bring him over the divide. 

Like children under the covers after their bedtime, they would whisper together about what had happened that day. Ben would fill him in on all of the funny one-liners that he’d thought of and try to get Klaus to laugh out loud. And in turn, Klaus would ask Ben questions about the particulars of being a ghost that he hadn’t thought of before when he was mostly uninterested in his powers. 

In this fashion, they grew closer than they ever were before as their relationship became based in connection rather than Ben endlessly trying to save Klaus from himself. 

  
  


At breakfast one morning about a week and a half into his stay, Daniel mentioned that he thought he’d heard Klaus talking in his sleep. 

Klaus had gone still, managing to stammer out a far from casual, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I didn’t understand what you were saying, I just rolled back over and fell asleep again, but I thought I heard voices. And a laugh, which was kinda creepy, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Klaus said again, relaxing. “Sorry about that! I’ll try not to wake you up again.” He shot the Ben-shadow lurking near his orange juice a dirty look. 

***

It was two weeks into his stay when Klaus was making his way to the backyard to spend his free time in the sun, only to be stopped as Lauren called, “Hey! Klaus!”

He backtracked to the living room, where Lauren and Susan sat across from each other at the coffee table, bottles of polish and a nail kit spread out between them. 

“Want to do manicures?” Lauren asked. For once, she had abandoned her business attire and was wearing faded jeans and a Harvard t-shirt. 

Klaus glanced down at his own nails, which hadn’t been done properly since long before he was arrested. “Sure.”

They both scooted over to make room for him. Klaus knelt carefully, mindful of the skirt he was wearing. 

“I already started on Susan’s nails,” Lauren explained as she filed. “But after she’s done, you could do mine, and then by the time that’s done, Susan’s will probably be set enough that she can do yours.”

Klaus nodded.

“What color were you thinking?” Susan asked. 

“Do you have black?”

Lauren peered at the collection of bottles. “Hmm, no. Maybe dark navy? You can look through them.”

While Susan chatted about her old last Saturday of the month tradition of going out with her daughters to get their nails done and see a movie, Klaus sorted through the bottles, finally selecting a bright pink. 

“What about you, Klaus?” Susan asked. 

“Huh?”

“Do you have anyone you do nails with?”

There was an ache in his chest as he answered, “I used to do stuff like that with one of my sisters.”

“Used to?”

“We grew apart. She lives in California now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Klaus smiled forcefully. “How about you, Lauren?” he asked quickly.

“I used to go with my grandmother. She immigrated here from France during the war and was poor for most of her life, but she said that having her nails done every once in a while made her feel like a real lady. She said she always wanted me to feel beautiful, so she took me every two weeks when I was a teenager.”

“Oh how lovely,” Susan sighed. “She seems like a wonderful lady.” 

“She is.” Lauren smiled to herself. 

Lauren switched back to painting, falling silent as she concentrated on Susan’s nails. 

“Klaus?” Susan began, a hint of trepidation in her voice. 

He prickled in apprehension but answered calmly, “Hmm?”

“Is it okay if I ask you a question?”

That never boded well. “Sure.”

“I was wondering, what are your pronouns?”

That hadn’t been what he was expecting. “I’m sorry?”

Susan blushed. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend! It’s just, my daughter Sam is trans you see, and she’s really taught me so much about not assuming anyone's identity. I thought it would be only polite to ask, though I apologize for not having done so earlier. Though maybe I shouldn't have wondered if your gender presentation implies you might use pronouns other than he... Oh, I hope I haven’t upset you!"

She looked so genuine it melted his heart a little and Klaus felt a stab of jealousy for Susan's daughter. Even if she wasn't perfect, Susan obviously was trying and cared enough to make an effort. Klaus couldn't imagine Reginald doing anything so considerate. The man couldn't even be bothered to use their _names_ for fuck’s sake. 

“No,” Klaus assured her, “not at all.” He smiled. “I guess people usually don’t really ask, so I was just surprised. I’m not really a boy or a girl… I just _am._ But like, he/him is fine. You don’t have to worry about it.” He shrugged dismissively. 

Susan frowned slightly. “You know, Klaus, it wouldn’t be an issue if you did have other pronouns you liked to use. We would all respect that.”

Her expression was serious and open as she spoke. Klaus shifted under her gaze, his cheeks warming against his will. “Okay. Thanks… I’ll uh… think about that I guess.” 

To be honest, he hadn't even considered the option before. It had never crossed his mind that there could be people who cared about him enough to respect something like that. Sure, Klaus had met plenty of trans and nonbinary people and was always ready to affirm their identity, but somehow it had never occurred to him that there would be people willing to do the same for him. He couldn't quite describe the feeling the thought gave him. It felt like a buzzing, like electricity, throughout his whole body. As if he moved, he might send sparks through the air. 

Susan smiled and patted his arm with her free hand. “There is no rush to define yourself, honey. And thank you for sharing. My pronouns are she/her.”

“So are mine,” Lauren chimed in, capping the bottle of polish. “You’re all done, Susan.”

“They look beautiful! Thank you, sweetheart.”

Lauren’s cheeks were tinged pink as she answered, “Thank you. They’re really nothing special.”

“They’re wonderful,” Susan insisted. 

Instead of trying to respond, Lauren turned to Klaus. “Now, my turn.” She handed him a file and a bottle of dark red polish. 

He took her hand gently in his, child-like contentment resting like a warm blanket around him. 

  
  
  


The girls were showing their nails at lunch, holding them out so Pete could admire their work. “Are you going to show me yours?” he asked Klaus.

He went on edge, examining Pete’s expression carefully, searching for a hint of the mockery that was so absent from his voice. 

Pete only looked at him openly, mildly curious, like he was waiting for an answer. 

“Sure.” Klaus stretched his hand across the table. 

Pete took it very lightly in his own rough hand, examining the nails like it actually mattered to him. “Nice,” he commented, gruffly but genuinely. He turned Klaus’ hand over to look at his palm. “Do you mind? I’ve wanted to get a closer look at your tattoos.”

“It’s fine.” Klaus placed his other hand next to the one in Pete’s grasp. _Hello. Goodbye._

“You must have balls of steel,” Pete commented, studying the work. “Those must have hurt like a mother.”

Klaus laughed lightly. “Don’t really remember it honestly.”

“Ah,” Pete nodded knowingly. “I have a few of those too.”

They swapped stories about tattoos and when they got them. Klaus quickly insisted that he didn’t remember getting the umbrella aether. Thankfully, Pete let it go. 

***

After letting so much slip on the first day, Klaus was more careful about what he said in therapy. For the most part, he avoided talking about his childhood as much as possible, sticking mostly to his life after leaving the Academy. He also danced around the subject of past relationships and Jason, divulging only that their relationship was ruined by addiction and that they had a painful breakup. Thankfully, it seemed like everyone had filled in the details of that with their own experiences and didn’t ask too many questions. 

Earl, he didn't dare even reference. Klaus would be happy to never speak of him again.

***

On a rainy Sunday⏤ the day that their schedule was lightest, the five residents were lounging in the dim living room, the dreary gray light making them all sleepy where they lounged in various chairs and sofas. 

Klaus was attempting to read a romance novel he’d found on the bookshelf, spacing out every few sentences and unable to progress past the second page. Daniel was spread out on the floor, working on sudoku while Lauren flipped through her law journal, her glasses perched on the end of her nose and Susan worked on her knitting. 

Without any apparent prompt, Pete looked up from his own magazine and asked the room at large, “Does anyone here believe in god?”

Lauren peered at him over the rims of her readers. “Where did that come from?”

“I’m bored. I thought it would be an interesting conversation. I’m a theological agnostic.”

“My apologies, I’m not familiar with that term,” Susan chimed in. “Would you mind explaining?”

“Aw yeah, for sure. Basically, I think they’re something, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Oh, I think that I might be a theological agnostic,” Susan said brightly. “I was raised Christian but none of it really felt like it quite fit, you know?”

Pete nodded sagely. 

“I was raised Catholic. I’m not anymore,” Lauren stated, not offering any further insight.

“I’m an atheist.” Daniel didn’t look up as he commented. No one was really surprised by that statement. “I figure, too much bad shit happens for there to be a god. And if there is one, I’m not interested in meeting him.”

As usual, Klaus’ brain-to-mouth filter was non-existent as against his will the information, “God is a girl,” popped right on out. He immediately groaned internally. 

“Right on,” Lauren laughed.

There was a general nod of agreement and assessment around the room and Klaus’ comment was quickly forgotten as they lightly debated half-formed opinions and thoughts, passing the long afternoon in philosophical waxing that faded into jokes and discussion of their favorite movies. 

***

In what Klaus could only categorize as a miracle, his birth certificate and social security card arrived less than three weeks after his meeting with Rachel. There was also a passport that was somehow nearly full despite Klaus having never carried one on their overseas missions. It was all delivered by his beaming lawyer in a neat envelope along with a small note from Pogo, wishing Klaus well. It was nice, if overly formal. Klaus chucked the letter immediately. 

“These aren’t real,” he admitted to Rachel while they looked over the paperwork. His birth certificate listed Grace Hargreeves as his mother, father unknown. 

“Speaking as a lawyer who would never intentionally misrepresent her client using false paperwork, I am sure that is not the case.” She gave him a deliberate look. 

“Do you think they’ll pass?” 

“They’re the best I’ve seen,” she admitted. “But I’ve saved the _very best_ for last.” With a triumphant smile, she slid one last document across the table. Klaus began to scan it, trying to make sense of the legal jargon when she explained, “It’s a release from the conservatorship.”

Klaus’ gaze snapped up to look at her. 

She squeezed his hand across the table as she assured him, “He can never take you back.”

“How?” he whispered. 

“I did some digging, just so I could pass the information along to my colleague, but I found something interesting in the process. As it turns out, the conservatorship was never legally processed in the first place. My best guess is that your father called in a personal favor with a judge somewhere. The papers existed on file, but nothing else did. There were no medical notes, no psychiatric evaluation, no court records⏤ because there just weren’t any in the first place. 

"He claimed control of your entire life without any evidence or due process at all. The hold he had on you was illegal in every single sense. I think he knew that he was in for a difficult case even before I found any of that out. After? Reginald had already lost the battle. No fair judge would overlook such a questionable formation of the conservatorship."

"So he gave up?" Klaus asked, confused. If he knew anything about his father, it was that he didn't give up what he wanted so easily. "If he paid a judge off the first time, why not just do it again?"

Rachel shifted. "Well," she said slowly. "It would be more difficult to get away with something so transparently corrupt in an actual court than in backrooms."

"But he has the money," Klaus argued. "He could still have gotten all of that paperwork you mentioned. They'd be forgeries, but we know he can do those." Klaus gestured to the papers spread between them. 

"Maybe he had a change of–?"

"What aren't you telling me?" Klaus demanded. 

Rachel froze.

Klaus watched her, waiting. 

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I know that this wasn't professional and we didn't discuss if you would be okay with this–"

Klaus waited for the news that he was somehow contractually obligated to play guinea pig three times a week or something.

"–but I told your father that you had sustained brain damage due to your continuous drug use."

Klaus stared at her. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I'm so sorry!" she said again. "I knew he wasn't going to let you go and so I pretended to be talking to him about long-term care options for you."

"Long-term care options?"

"He didn't seem to believe me at first because of how together you had looked in court, but I told him the care team here had noticed how forgetful you are and how your emotional state is very fragile, indicating that your ability to regulate emotion has decreased. I also told him there has been some decline in the white matter of your brain. It is a condition that would only worsen with time." Rachel looked a little regretful as she said, "He seemed to bend to the idea of you being let go of his care after that. Ironically, in response to a condition that would have in actuality justified his conservatorship."

Klaus snorted wildly, bitterly. 

"He did volunteer to pay for any medical treatment, however," Rachel offered as if that would soothe any of his emotional wounds at his sudden abandonment. 

"You made me useless to him," Klaus whispered to himself in wonder. He'd never told her that his emotions were important to his powers, so she had no way of knowing just how impactful saying that he had lost control of them would be. But someone, Rachel had struck on what was probably the only thing that would ever guarantee Reginald never came looking for Klaus again.

"What?" Rachel asked. "I didn't catch that."

"He's not ever coming back for me now, is he?" Klaus asked, looking at her for assurance. 

"No," Rachel said softly. "I don't think he is."

Klaus had to look away to process that. The paper blurred as his eyes grew hot. 

"Klaus, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have–"

He couldn’t speak, but when he glanced back up at Rachel, wonder clear across his face, she smiled like she understood. He reached out clumsily and gripped her hand, smiling so wide it almost hurt.

She returned the grin. “You know, Klaus,” she said. “Part of your father’s control included financial decisions. He was in charge of your entire estate.”

“I don’t have an estate,” Klaus blurted in surprise and confusion. He pulled his hand away from hers to wipe at his face. 

Rachel gave him an odd look. “Of course you do, Klaus. The Umbrella Academy was an extremely profitable enterprise. There is reward money, royalties from tv appearances and merchandise sales⏤”

“What?” Klaus was stunned. 

“You didn’t know?” Rachel looked equally as shocked. 

Klaus shook his head. “I never even thought…”

The look of fire came back over Rachel’s face. “Well, right now your rightful dues are tied up in your father’s finances, but you are completely within your rights to sue for the money⏤”

“No.”

Rachel stopped. “No?”

“No,” Klaus repeated, sitting back. He’d spoken on instinct, but as he continued to think about it, he became resolved in his decision. “I don’t want any of that fucking money.”

“Klaus, the sum is quite significant. You could buy yourself a whole new life if you just⏤”

“It’s blood money,” he interrupted. “Literally. I killed people for that money.”

Rachel didn’t seem to know what to say to that. 

“And besides, I know if I had access to that much cash… I’d blow it on _blow_ immediately. Or heroin. Or both.”

Rachel considered him. “Are you sure, Klaus?”

“Yeah. I’ve never really had anything you know? Like I know I grew up in that nice house… but I’ve hardly ever really had anything that was _mine._ It’s not like I’m giving anything up. And, yeah. I don’t want that money. It wasn’t worth it.”

Rachel sat in silence for a moment before she nodded. “Okay.” That was the end of her argument. She let him have his peace. “Then, unless there are any other legal concerns you wish to discuss today, I believe that concludes our business.” She looked at him expectantly. 

“No,” Klaus said lightly. “I think that hit money thing just about covers it. _Thank you_ ,” he added at the end, hoping to convey just how much he meant _‘you saved me and I can never repay you as long as I live’_ in those two tiny words. 

She gave him a small smile as she stood. “It’s been my pleasure.” Rachel shook his hand firmly. “Please, think of Vanderbilt, Tomson, and Stein for your next legal issue.”

Klaus smiled. “Of course⏤ as long as you’re not going to change the rate,” he joked. “Now that I’m going to continue to not be a millionaire.” 

Rachel laughed. “We’ll see how interesting your case is. Though with you, I wouldn’t expect anything less than fascinating.” 

  
  
  


By the end of the next week, new (il)legal documentation in hand, Klaus was enrolled in an online GED program. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: reference to the concept of suicide and self harm though those things do not actually occur. Minor flashback to homophobia and abuse in Ch 7
> 
> *****
> 
> Another positive chapter!!!!!!!
> 
> Look at Klaus getting everything he wants and needs!!!! 
> 
> Go him!!!
> 
> Fuck Reginald!!!!
> 
> Bless Daniel, and Lauren, and Pete, and Susan (who is the embodiment of "a little confused but she has the spirit")
> 
> Please comment and tell me your thoughts????????? 
> 
> Also, please everyone wear a mask. Covid is deadly and also a pain in the ass. Stay safe and healthy everyone!  
> Love,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aye-of-newt)


	25. Mosaic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus works towards building a life, slowly opens up about his past, and forms deeper relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> Hello lovely readers!  
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and well wishes! It's 2020 so things are crazy but not quite as bad as last week lol. Though my computer is like dying soooo that's fun. Ha. 
> 
> :/
> 
> But we have more story to get to! Even if I'm freaking out a wee bit over how close we are to the end of this fic...
> 
> I need to write faster lol. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the content you came for.

Online class was frustrating and strange. In some ways, he was more prepared than he thought he would be⏤ Klaus had random spatterings of knowledge that he could apply, like a semi-functional concept of human biology and a decent understanding of the US governmental system. But he discovered that Hemmingway was beyond his comprehension, or at least more than he had the patience for. Vaguely he thought he might remember reading something of his work before at the Academy, or that he’d at least been assigned to read it and then not. Either way, in the present he very much wanted to throw the damn book out the window. Not to mention that his math skills were… less than average to say the least. Strange gaps in his knowledge cropped up in other places too⏤ like how he had most of the periodic table memorized, yet didn’t know what photosynthesis was. 

It was tempting to entirely blame Reginald as his version of “school” had been more geared towards the man’s own archaic interests and building soldiers rather than educated citizens, but Klaus grudgingly admitted that his own lack of academic prowess could also be at fault. Klaus had never been a good student, which he was reminded of painfully as he began his online GED classes. 

Somehow, Klaus had never managed to pay attention during class as well as his siblings did, as hard as he tried. Without meaning to, his mind would wander, flitting from thought to thought rapidly, never managing to fixate on the one he was supposed to. His legs and hands would tap and bounce and fidget until Reginald smacked his cane against Klaus' desk and threatened to strap them to the chair if he didn't stop. Then Klaus would spend the rest of the lesson distracted by the urge to move and the burning wrongness of forcing himself to stay still. 

The only thing Klaus had ever really been good at was languages, and even then he always did better with speaking them rather than reading or writing. Reginald had been endlessly frustrated with Klaus over this, a feeling that, for once, Klaus understood. He was often frustrated with himself as a child, desperately trying to grasp onto the lessons that everyone else seemed to breeze through. 

Although their “grades” didn’t matter much, at least not in the real world, Klaus’ were always the lowest of the siblings, especially after Five disappeared. Five was always the best student of all of them, particularly so in math and science, which were conveniently Klaus’ weakest subjects. He had been the one that Klaus would go to when he needed help, which was frequently.

In the present day, as he struggled through his first round of practice tests, digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to force himself to pay attention, to not fidget, memories came flooding back to Klaus until the math in front of him blurred into assignments he’d done when he was twelve. 

_“Five?” Four asked, knocking lightly on the ajar door as he peered into the room._

_"_ _What?” Five asked, not looking up from his book. He rocked himself on the back legs of his chair, his feet propped on the desk._

_"_ _Can you help me?”_

_Five glanced at him in annoyance._

_Four shifted in the doorway, gripping his books tightly to his chest._

_Five sighed, turning his page down to mark the spot. “What subject?” He put his chair back down fully on the floor, turning to Four._

_"Math.” He smiled in relief, coming into the room. “Thanks.”_

_“Whatever.” Five sat on the floor and waited for Four to join him. They spread the books and paper out in front of them. “What’s the problem?” Five asked, scanning what little Four already had._

_“Everything.”_

_He looked at Four flatly._

_“Really. I don’t understand why we have to put letters in math. It doesn’t make sense.”_

_"All you have to do is solve for x.” He pointed at the problem._

_“But what is x?”_

_“That’s what you have to solve.”_

_“See! It doesn’t make sense.”_

_Five took a calming breath. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. You want to get all of the numbers on the same side of the equal sign⏤ Four, pay attention.”_

_“Sorry!” He’d spaced out already, distracted by the birds that had flit past the window._

_“How do we get the ten on the other side of the equation?”_

_"Add?”_

_“You want to do the opposite of what it already is.”_

_“Subtract?”_

_“Right.”_

_Four marked the step down._

_“Okay, now⏤ Four!”_

_“Sorry!” He jerked back to attention, stopping his doodling. “Can we put on music or something?”_

_“You’re already not listening.”_

_“I am! Or I’m trying to but I can’t.”_

_“And music will help?” he asked skeptically._

_“Promise.”_

_“Fine.”_

_The ten problems that Five could have done in twenty minutes took them an hour and a half to work through, but by the end of it, Four was able to do the last question by himself. “Thank you,” he said again as he straightened up his things. “Dad was going to kill me if I failed this again.”_

_“You should pay attention more in class.”_

_“I can’t!”_

_“Four.”_

_“I try! It’s just… hard.”_

_He sighed. “Whatever, math isn’t your thing. Do you at least understand what we just did?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Good.”_

_“At least I think so.”_

_Five did his best not to twitch. “We’ll go over it again before the test.”_

_Four beamed._

“Klaus?” Rain asked gently, sliding into the seat next to him at the table. “Are you okay?”

Self-consciously, Klaus realized his eyes were damp. “Oh, yeah. Fine.” He smiled quickly. 

Rain’s frowned deepened. “If you’re struggling⏤”

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “Just… remembering.” 

“Mmm,” Rain hummed. “I see. Would you like to talk about it?”

Klaus’ face burned. “I was never… good in school.”

“Okay,” Rain prompted, no judgment in her voice. 

“I… could never pay attention. I tried! I swear! I just… wasn’t very smart.” He pleaded almost unintentionally, afraid of losing whatever small amount of respect he had earned.

“Klaus, I believe you that you tried,” she assured him. 

“Oh. Thanks.” Some of his tension drained. 

“And struggling does not mean that you are dumb,” Rain continued. “Many very intelligent people have a difficult time in an academic setting because their brains don’t work exactly like everyone else's'.”

“I failed most of my tests on the first time around,” Klaus admitted quietly, like a confession. For some reason, he needed her to understand that he wasn’t what she thought he was. Even if he wanted to complete the degree, he couldn't just lie to her. He would do his best, but that wasn't much.

“Okay,” Rain said mildly. “If you need some additional assistance or accommodations, I’m sure we can get it for you, Klaus. Did you ever have someone to work with you one on one? That can help.”

Five ran through his memory, his tiny thirteen-year-old face disappearing again and again around the corner of the dining room, gone forever. “Once.”

“Did it help?”

“Yeah. I usually managed to pass when he helped me. After… I barely scraped by.” 

“After?”

“He disappeared. My brother. We were thirteen.”

“Oh,” Rain breathed sadly. “Klaus, I’m so⏤”

“It was a long time ago,” he said quickly, not in the mood to share much else. “It’s fine. I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Rain allowed, sensing the delicacy of the subject. “How is the math going right now?” she asked, somewhat redirecting the conversation. 

“...It’s not.”

Rain smiled sympathetically. “Would you like me to take a look? No promises, but I can try.” 

Klaus gestured her ahead and Rain pulled the computer closer to her, squinting at the screen as she tried to help him through it.

They were discussing the possibility of Klaus finding a tutor when Daniel revealed far too nonchalantly that, before he’d dropped out, he took AP calculus in high school as a sophomore for _fun._ He offered, without being asked, to help Klaus with his studies. 

Thankfully, despite Klaus’ constant straying attention, Daniel was surprisingly patient while working through the definitively lower-level math with Klaus. He’d gone through the GED process himself the year before and understood how frustrating it could be. Additionally, although his grasp of science was less advanced than with math, Daniel knew enough to at least help Klaus piece together whatever he was supposed to be doing. 

Most importantly, he never seemed to get angry when Klaus started tapping or bouncing his leg or playing with a pencil. At first, Klaus had apologized for every unnecessary movement or noise, sure that he was going to annoying Daniel into quitting. But every time he did, Daniel assured him it was fine.

Klaus didn't quite believe him on that, not until Daniel caught sight of the bloody half-moons Klaus had dug into his palms fighting the urge to move. He didn't say anything about it, but whenever Daniel saw Klaus balling up his fists after that, he carefully took Klaus' hand and eased his fingers open. That action was more than a forgiveness of Klaus' fidgeted. It was an invitation for him to move as much as he wanted.

Cautiously, Klaus eased his self restrictions. 

Not long after Daniel began helping him, Susan informed Klaus that she had been an English major back in the day, and with thirty years of secretary experience, she proofread like a wizard. Klaus still wouldn’t call himself a writer, but at the very least his grammar was correct.

Joining in the group project that Klaus' education had become, Lauren filled in any gaps that he missed in history and social studies. 

Pete laughed that he wasn’t great in school either, but if Klaus wanted he’d show him how to make brownies, normal, non-magic brownies⏤ which was infinitely more valuable if you asked Klaus. 

***

Klaus was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through flashcards with Lauren while Pete and Susan worked on a pie, and Daniel practiced filling out a tax form across from him, his tongue sticking out a little bit as he tallied the columns. Rainfall splattered across the windows, the September day seeming even colder and drearier in comparison to the scene in the kitchen. Rain’s office radio drifted in from down the hall, old seventies folk music lilting peacefully through the air. 

Distracted by a peal of laughter, Klaus looked up to see Pete and Susan flicking flour at each other, both covered in white powder and absolutely delighted. Klaus grinned, watching as Susan shrieked and ran around the kitchen island to hide. 

“Come on, Klaus. Focus,” Lauren reminded him gently. 

He began to turn back to her but caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. Ben stood leaning in the doorframe, smiling at the scene. Klaus went completely still, staring at him.

“Klaus?” Lauren asked, following his gaze but obviously seeing nothing. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. Ben was there, and Klaus didn’t remember calling him. 

Ben had turned at the sound of Lauren’s voice and his eyes became round when he saw Klaus staring at him. “Can you see me right now?” he asked, low with wonder. 

"Have to go to the bathroom,” Klaus announced abruptly, standing. He rushed out of the room, glancing back to make sure that Ben was following. 

Pressing the bathroom door closed behind him, Klaus leaned against it, staring at Ben. “How⏤?”

“Why should I know? You’re the Séance.” 

Klaus made a face. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever. But really, Klaus. You’re the one with the power. Are you sure you didn’t mean to conjure me?”

“Did you see me doing my whole mediation routine?” Klaus wiggled his fingers sarcastically. 

Ben crossed his arms. “Well, what else am I supposed to think?” 

“I don’t know!” Klaus groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I’ve never done this so easily before! _Sober_ ,” he amended. “You saw how much effort it was to bring you over here the first time I conjured you without help. That guard thought I had a seizure for fucks’ sake.”

"But that _wasn’t_ the first time you conjured me sober,” Ben said slowly. “That was when you were just trying to meditate in bed. It was an accident.” 

Klaus realized he was right. “Okay, fine. The first time was an accident. But what does this time mean?”

Ben paced in the tiny cramped space of the bathroom. “I don’t know. I mean, it has been getting easier for you to summon me, right?” He looked back towards Klaus. “Maybe you’ve just gotten good enough at it that you don’t need to try so hard anymore. You said you think your powers are influenced by your emotions, right? Maybe you were just finally relaxed enough that you just… let me through without trying.”

Klaus and Ben looked at each, excitement building between them. 

“What else,” Klaus started to ask, wonder creeping into his voice, “do you think I can do?”

***

The five of them were sitting around the living room in various positions, Klaus laying on his back on the ground and his feet up next to where Daniel was sitting on the couch. Much to his disappointment, he found that watching documentaries about atoms while upside down did not make it more interesting.

Klaus wished he could talk to Ben, who was standing behind Pete’s armchair, trying to read his book. Lauren and Susan were sitting on the other couch, talking. 

While the narrator droned on about electrons, Daniel sighed and turned it off. “Silence is preferable,” he groaned, his head flopping back in boredom. Without the sound of the tv, Lauren and Susan’s conversation could be heard by the rest of them.

“I know,” Lauren was saying. “I took a three-week self-defense class in college. It made me feel better, but I doubt I would actually be able to do anything if I was attacked.” 

“When I was growing up, it was considered ‘abnormal’ or ‘strange’ for a girl to want to be strong. I mean, of course, the violence and misogyny were even more normalized then, and women were actually encouraged to be more docile and soft. I never liked it. I thought about joining a women’s group back in college, but then I got married.” She smiled. “And my husband is a _darling,_ but I just got busy with work and kids and well, as embarrassed as I am to admit it, I figured that now that I had a man… well I didn’t need to learn how to defend myself. I realize how silly that makes me sound.”

"No, I understand,” Lauren told her. “I always thought that I was too busy with work too. But there were so many nights that I walked with my keys in my fingers and I thought, _God, Lauren. You’re such an idiot, putting something like that off. Tomorrow I’m going to sign up for a class.”_ She laughed. “But of course, I never did.”

Susan nodded. “And I was always so intimidated by the instructors of those classes too. Funny, how the man who is supposed to be helping you feel safe and can so off-putting.”

“I could teach you,” Klaus offered before he thought about it. 

Everyone turned to look at him. 

“You?” Daniel asked, arching an eyebrow.

 _Well, that tone was unnecessary._ “Yes, me,” Klaus retorted. 

Pete laughed, “It’s a nice offer, Klaus, but do you really know what you’re doing? I’ve been boxing for longer than you’ve been _alive._ ” He turned back to the women. “I could teach you.”

“If I can beat you in a fight,” Klaus started, an old strain of childhood rivalry fairing up, “What would you give me?”

Ben sighed in exasperation. 

Pete looked at Klaus like he was an amusing child. “If you can beat me in a fight?”

“Yeah. I’m expecting an apology for starters but feel free to elaborate upon that.”

“Klaus, I am not going to fight you.”

“Oh, come on,” Klaus whined, sitting up. Thinking of Luther and Diego, he smiled evilly. “Why not? _Scared?_ ”

There was a microscopic twitch in Pete’s eye.

 _Boys are so dumb,_ Klaus thought happily. 

“Fine. But only because I’m confident that I’ll be able to pin you in about ten seconds without causing any serious harm.”

“And if I win?”

Pete laughed. “If you win, I will apologize for doubting you.”

“And?”

“And… I will bake anything you want.”

“Excellent!” Klaus bounded up. “Come on!” he called, making a beeline for the back door. “I want to get my cheesecake!” 

Pete and the others trailed him out of the house, Pete looking bemused while Lauren and Susan were annoyed by their peacocking. And perhaps a bit worried. Daniel was smirking to himself. Klaus wasn’t sure whose side he was on. Ben observed from the sidelines, a reluctant grin sneaking around his lips.

“What are we all up to?” Rain asked, coming out of the kitchen and following them out into the now somewhat cramped back yard.

“Watching Klaus and Pete fight,” Lauren responded casually. 

“To teach us self-defense,” Susan quickly clarified. 

“Hmm.” Rain raised her eyebrows and turned to watch. 

“Okay,” Klaus said as he led Pete onto the yard. “So what are the rules?”

“Rules?” Pete asked, still giving Klaus the same condescending smile. 

“Yeah, rules. I say no biting.”

“Ha!” Pete shook his head, chuckling. “Okay, no biting. And no groin shots.” 

“Hair pulling?”

“No.”

Klaus nodded. “Whoever pins the other for five seconds first wins. Or we stop if there’s blood.”

“That works for me.” He smiled in clear amusement at the idea. 

It would have been nice if Pete could at least pretend to take him more seriously, but his arrogance would make Klaus feel less bad when he thoroughly embarrassed him. He smiled in false innocence up at Pete and nodded. “Sounds good.” He shook his arms out a little, loosening up. “Ready?”

“Are _you_ ready?” Pete raised his eyebrows. 

“This seems like a bad idea,” Rain commented but didn’t move to stop them. She believed in learning through experience. (And wasn’t particularly worried about any serious injuries.)

“I’ll count you in,” Daniel offered. “You go on ‘fight’. Three, two, one, fight!”

Pete made the first move, reaching out to grab Klaus’ shoulder. 

He dodged Pete’s extended arm to grasp his collar with his right hand and caught the elbow of the arm Pete had meant to strike him with. All in one motion, Klaus twisted so his back was to Pete’s chest, his arm still in Klaus' grasp. Continuing the flow of the move, Klaus bent at his knees and pushed up and out, sending Pete over his head. He landed on his back, stunned. 

Behind him, Klaus could hear a gasp from who he suspected was Susan and Daniel shouted, “Holy shit! Yes!” 

Klaus ignored them. He took advantage of Pete’s surprise and pinned him down, his chest perpendicular to Petes, his right arm under Pete’s left shoulder, effectively laying across him. 

Pete recovered and tried to buck Klaus off using his other hand but Klaus moved with the push, allowing him to stay on top. He shoved Pete’s arm back to the ground and got his leg on top of it, hooking his other arm under Pete’s head. 

Pete tried again to get up, moving exactly as Klaus wanted, up and into his chest. He stepped his free foot over Pete’s head, and his left arm wrapped around Pete’s, hugging it into his chest. He grabbed a fistful of material from Pete’s pant leg and held him there, Klaus’ own leg pinning him down around the throat. Pete squirmed desperately under him but Klaus held firm, grinning. 

“One! Two! Three! Four! Five!” Daniel, Lauren, and Susan chanted, erupting into cheers and wild applause when he finally let go. 

Klaus bounced up, smiling broadly as he did an impression of a gymnast that had just stuck the landing. “Thank you, thank you very much.” He gave a small bow and then bent down to Pete who still lay on the ground. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Pete gasped. “I’m good.”

“So just your ego bruised then, yeah?” Klaus asked teasingly. 

Pete huffed but smiled. “Okay, fine. I deserve that one. Help me up, would ya?” 

Klaus accepted Pete’s hand and pulled him up to his feet, brushing grass off of his back. 

“Okay, no offense Pete, but I want Klaus to teach me self-defense,” Daniel said, coming down off the stoop to talk to them. “Like what the actual fuck, dude? You’ve been holding out on us.” He punched Klaus lightly on the arm. 

Klaus blushed, rubbing the back of his head. “The element of surprise is always good to have in your handbook.”

“I second Daniel’s statement,” Lauren said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Klaus, that was incredible. Very impressive.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” he tried protesting. 

“Kid, I’ve been boxing for thirty-five years, and I have never been so thoroughly beaten in my life. I have to hand it to you.” Pete shook his hand as well, squeezing just a little too tightly like he needed to demonstrate just a hair more masculinity after being beaten. Klaus let him have it. 

“Ah, you should see my brothers,” Klaus laughed it off. “I’m nothing compared to them. I was always the worst at hand-to-hand.” 

“If you’re the worst,” Susan said her eyes wide, “I don’t want to see the best.”

“Where did you learn your technique, Klaus?” Rain asked. “I’ve done some tai chi in my life, which, granted, is a peaceful form, but I can’t say I’ve practiced martial arts like that before.”

“I was raised by a mad man,” Klaus explained, a half-joking smile tugging at his lips.

The source of Klaus’ abilities was quickly forgotten as Daniel clambered to get his attention, reliving the fight with more animation than Klaus had ever seen him exhibit. 

“Nice throw,” Ben added over Daniel’s head. “Form could use a little work though.”

Klaus stuck his tongue out at him.

***

Soon after Klaus’ demonstration, Wednesday afternoons were designated as self-defense training times. During one such lesson, he explained to Susan, who struggled with the idea of applying all the force that she could, that the ultimate goal was to hurt the attacker as harshly and effectively as possible and then run. Overhearing, Pete commented with a laugh, “You fight dirty, Klaus.”

Klaus glanced at him but continued to address Susan. “In boxing, you can afford to play by the rules. In a real fight, your goal is to stay alive. Some fucker in an alleyway isn’t going to play fair. When I was fighting Pete, I used throws and pinning because it was a spar. If someone attacks you, you’re not going to worry about how cool something looks or if hitting the groin is a cheap shot.” He looked Susan right in the eyes as he told her, “ _Never_ hesitate to use your full force on someone who has attempted to hurt you.” 

There was a long silence before Pete commented, a little awed. “That was intense, Klaus.” 

“It was true,” he responded. “But the point of this isn’t to feel afraid. Come on,” he said more gently to Susan. “I’m going to show you how to break a man’s kneecap.” 

***

By far the most popular of Klaus’ sessions was his seminar on the use of high heels. Although, for legal reasons, Lauren pretended to be deaf when Klaus explained how the spike of a good pair of stilettos could be used to kill a man if the exact right spot of the skull was targeted. 

Or at least take an eye out.

***

With Klaus teaching self-defense and Pete’s constant advice in the kitchen, the group decided that it would be fair, and fun, for everyone to share a skill with the others. Susan started teaching knitting on Sundays, and Daniel guitar on Thursdays. His lessons took a while, as they only had one guitar to pass around the room, but Daniel was calm and kind as he explained a single chord four, or more often, seven-plus times in a row. Additionally, Lauren was actually a rather talented cartoonist, which she chose for her skill after they told her it couldn’t be US (or international) law. 

Through September, they built up a steady collection of crude doodles over the fridge, lumpy scarves and hats, and more banana bread than anyone could actually eat. They had all mastered “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and Daniel had progressed them onto the more advanced “Here Comes the Sun”. Rain was thrilled with their project and mentioned that she was considering adopting it to the official program. The five of them didn’t care about that so much as they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

***

“We are going to be talking about relationships today,” Lillian began the group.

 _As opposed to⏤?_ Klaus thought to himself. It felt like all they did was talk about their relationships. Why they couldn’t be like normal people and keep all their most vulnerable emotions locked down in the deepest pit of their brain and only express affection through bickering and random small favors was beyond Klaus. Supposed “functional” people were weird.

“I would like you to reflect on how your drug use has impacted your relationships with others, or how your relationships with others contributed to your drug use,” Lillian continued. 

They went around the circle, hitting many familiar points. Susan talked about her family and so did Pete, along with mentioning his own alcoholic father and the drinking culture of professional kitchens. Daniel, in brief, halting sentences, explained some of the abuse he’d suffered in the system and the _friends_ who had encouraged his use. Lauren, in an uncharacteristically distracted tone, said something about not being trusted by her clients anymore. 

Klaus elaborated on what had happened between him and Diego and how he feared Diego wouldn’t be willing to give yet another chance. 

Lillian encouraged Klaus to reach out to him again because _you never know_. 

Klaus mumbled an explanation of the message he’d gotten the last time he tried to call Diego after being arrested. He didn’t mention the letter he’d posted shortly after coming to Healing Sage had also come back unopened and marked ‘ _return to sender’._ Klaus still wasn’t sure if it was because Diego had moved, or if he’d rejected it. 

After they were dismissed, everyone went their own ways. Klaus was ahead with his course work for his GED and so made his way outside to hopefully talk to Ben for a while and focus on growing his powers. To his surprise, Lauren was already sitting on the back steps, her arms wrapped around her knees. 

"Hey,” Klaus said quietly, trying not to startle her. 

Lauren still jumped and turned to look at him. 

“Sorry!” he apologized. “Do you mind if I sit out here for a bit or...?” Lauren didn’t really look like she wanted company. 

"No, it’s fine,” she gave him a limp smile that quickly dissolved. She turned back around and resumed staring blankly at the grass. 

_Well, obviously there was something going on there._ For a moment, Klaus considered turning back inside. He hesitated. 

"Klaus, talk to her,” Ben chastised, giving him a dirty look. 

Klaus scowled. _Fine,_ he mouthed back. Forcibly relaxing his shoulders, Klaus gingerly sat down next to Lauren on the steps.

They sat shoulder to shoulder silently for an awkwardly long time. Finally, Klaus couldn’t take it anymore and let out a long sigh.

Lauren looked at him from the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything.

"So,” Klaus started. “How about group today?”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Ben groaned from behind him.

Klaus ignored him. 

Lauren raised her eyebrow at Klaus. “It was fine?” her voice tilted up at the end like she was unsure why he was asking.

“It was a little intense in some places,” Klaus prodded.

"Sure,” Lauren muttered. 

Klaus stole a look at Ben.

“Ask her if she’s okay,” Ben told him in an exaggeratedly slow voice like he was talking to an idiot.

Klaus frowned at him in annoyance but turned back to Lauren. “Are you… okay?” he asked clumsily. 

“Fine,” Lauren clipped back. 

Klaus was a little lost on what to do. Even he could tell that she wasn’t fine. “Okay,” he started, fishing for any knowledge on what normal people did. “You just… look a little sad. So, like, I was just wondering, if there was something I could help with?” He winced at his own incompetence. 

Lauren was silent for a long time. Just as Klaus was about to excuse himself to go ram his stupid head against the wall, she admitted, so quietly he almost missed it, “I lied.”

Klaus blinked. “About what?”

“Or maybe I should say that I didn’t tell the whole truth,” Lauren continued. “There was a relationship that I didn’t talk about today.”

“Okay.” Klaus didn’t know what else to say. “Do you want to⏤?”

“I was dating someone for a while,” Lauren’s voice shook as she began. She stared straight ahead like she could only tell the story if she pretended Klaus wasn’t there. “At first, I thought it was a dream come true. He was so funny and kind and intelligent. He told me that I was beautiful and he wanted to spend his life with me. He even started studying Spanish for me. He wanted to learn about my Columbian heritage on my dad’s side. He said that anything that was impotent to me was important to him."

Lauren paused to take a deep shaking breath. “We moved in together and for six months it was wonderful, but then… things started to change.”

Her story was far too familiar and Klaus felt creeping dread as he realized what was coming. 

“It started off small, he would get annoyed that I didn’t do the dishes or fold the laundry and make some comment about me being too busy with work. I thought it was fair, I was always working. So I tried to make more time for him. But with every inch that I bent, he just asked for more. 

“Soon, nothing that I did was enough. He would accuse me of things. Like, I didn’t care about him because I didn’t want to stay home all day while _he_ worked. I looked like a _slut_ if my skirt was above my knee. I was _stupid_ because I forgot to get his dry cleaning after work. And I know that listening to me now, you wonder how I could possibly not have seen reality, but it just happened _so slowly_. 

“And I was under enormous pressure at work, my caseload was insane. As I previously said, I started using more just to keep up with all of it. And by the time he first hit me,” her voice broke with a sob. “He’d worn me down enough I thought I deserved it.” 

There was a long silence after Lauren finished. Klaus felt like he was going to puke watching her. It was wrong to see Lauren, who he knew as nothing but bold and intelligent, slumped down like a whipped dog. Memories burned across the back of his mind glowed white-hot. Finally, he managed to ask in a strangled rasp, “Did you get out?”

Lauren nodded. “Shortly before I went into rehab, Rachel⏤ you remember, the lawyer friend of mine who helped you?”

“'Course.

“She helped me leave him. She was actually the one who encouraged me to come here. I really owe her my life.”

"Good,” Klaus breathed, a tiny shred of relief releasing the tension in his body. “It’s good you’re away from him.”

“I’m still just so angry at myself,” Lauren admitted. “I feel so _stupid_ that I couldn’t leave him on my own. I just keep thinking about what a _victim_ I made myself. I love the classes you’ve been teaching, Klaus–"

Klaus jerked, pulled out of his own spirling thoughts.

"–but I can’t stop wondering if I had taken something like that earlier I wouldn’t have… I would have been able to stop him,” Lauren finished in a whisper. 

Despite the shame he’d carried for years, Klaus didn’t hesitate in his response. “I had that knowledge and ability,” Klaus told her in a muted tone, “and it still happened to me.” 

Lauren finally looked at him, shocked. 

The little voice in the back of his head screamed at him to shut his fucking mouth but Klaus continued, “You’ve heard me talk about Jason before right?”

She nodded, slow understanding starting to crumple her face. 

Klaus continued, “I never told the full truth either. It’s true that we both fed off each other’s use, encouraging each other to use more. But I didn’t say that Jason was ashamed of himself for being gay on some level. When I confronted him about it⏤ that was the first time he hit me. And after he was cut off, he started beating me. Beat the fucking shit out me actually. And I stayed with him. I _sold myself_ for him because he was the first person I met who said he loved me. Who treated me with kindness. And,” Klaus laughed bitterly, “you want to know the most pathetic part? _He_ left _me!_ He got a free ticket back to his old life, and I was left in a studio apartment with roaches and not a single cent.” Klaus played with his bracelets. “And maybe even sadder than that, I think that if he had tried to make up, probably at almost any point before I ended up here, I would have taken him back. And what does that say about me?”

“It wasn’t your fault that he took advantage of you, Klaus,” Lauren told him, her voice as gently as the hand that she carefully rested on his knee. 

“If it wasn’t my fault,” he said, thick with emotion, “then it wasn’t yours either.”

They gave each other watery fragile smiles and a new kind of familiar silence fell between them. It wasn’t quite relaxed, but it was deep with understanding. 

***

Lauren’s words granted Klaus an absolution he didn’t know he needed and permission to at last move on. Propelled by the progress and potential that Klaus finally saw in himself, he began practicing with his powers every available second. By the end of the week, he barely even had to try to conjure Ben. The tether keeping Ben’s full form stable, the very one that Klaus had struggled so much to first from between them, had solidified. It became so that the real Ben was as present as his shadow once had been. 

“Do you think,” Ben asked ten days after the first instant that Klaus summoned him without effort, “that you would be able to talk to others?”

Klaus took a sharp inhale but didn’t answer.

"You know that they just want help, Klaus,” Ben told him. “That’s all they asked for.”

"How can I help them, Ben? They’re dead.” Klaus’ voice was devoid of emotion as he answered, closing himself off. 

“I don’t know,” Ben huffed in frustration. “Maybe they just want someone to talk to?”

Klaus thought of the endless rivers of blood and pale white bone torn through flesh and the never-ceasing screams and crying. He could feel the straps digging into his skin and he couldn’t move, trapped while the dead swarmed around him, their hands digging into his chest as they pleaded, “ _Klaus. Klaus. Klaus.”_

He sank down, curling around himself, shaking. “No, no, no, no, no,” he chanted to himself. “No, no, no.” As his heart rate increased, Klaus didn’t notice how Ben flickered in and out of form. 

“Klaus?” Ben pleaded, his worry clear. “Klaus, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. You’re safe. It’s not real.”

" _Again, Number Four,”_ Reginald said coldly, looming over him, a long needle poised like a knife in his hand. 

Klaus couldn’t breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, no, no, no, no, no. _Please don’t,_ ” he begged. 

“Klaus⏤” Ben faded back into mist, Klaus’ concentration broken. 

He was beginning to hyperventilate when Daniel found him. The sound of his shouts for help faded into the background of the echoing screams that terrorized Klaus' memory. 

  
  
  
  


When Klaus woke up, he was in his bed, the Academy left in the last where it belonged. "Wha-?” he slurred, heavy with confusion. 

“You’re awake,” Daniel sighed with relief from where he sat on his own bed across from Klaus. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Klaus rubbed his eyes. His head hurt. “What?” he asked again, not able to place things in a way that made sense.

“You passed out,” Daniel told him. “Rain thinks it was a panic attack.” He was still watching Klaus with wide, worried eyes. “Does that sound right?”

The memory of what happened before he lost control came back and Klaus nodded reluctantly. “Maybe.” 

“It was really scary,” Daniel told him. “You were totally freaking out and then you just went _limp."_

“Sorry." Klaus cringed. 

“No, don’t. It’s fine,” Daniel squirmed, blushing as he glanced away from Klaus. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he admitted in a rush. 

“Oh.” Klaus didn’t know what to say to that. “Thanks.” It was odd, having someone other than Ben worry about him. 

“Yeah, well, don’t mention it.” Daniel stood quickly. “I’m just going to go tell Rain you’re awake.” He left before Klaus could say anything else. 

Still exhausted, Klaus sank back into the pillows. As his eyes slid shut again, he caught a tiny glimmer of Ben stilling on the end of his bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben murmured. 

But Klaus was already asleep. 

  
***

As soon as Klaus was stable enough, he was called into an emergency session with Noah. Left with few options and not wanting to share regardless, Klaus claimed that he didn’t know what had triggered him and, however reluctantly, Noah let him go. Though he insisted that Klaus tell someone immediately if he changed his mind about talking about it, or if something else was triggering him. 

Everyone walked on eggshells around him for the next few days, and Lauren had to be assured that it had nothing to do with their conversations about Jason, but as time passed without another incident, things slowly went back to normal and Klaus found himself dangerously close to well-adjusted and just about half-way through treatment.

***

On October first, Klaus decided to skip morning yoga with Rain in order to steal a quiet hour with Ben, stifling laughter at memories of the few happier times when they were children. It was nice to hide away and play pretend for just a little bit.

But other than that, Klaus didn’t make any note of the significance of the day to anyone at the center, going about his day as usual, if a little quieter. He was distracted enough that he didn’t notice the secretive looks that the others flashed behind his back or the way that everyone would stop talking as soon as he stepped into a room. 

He also didn’t think much of it when Rain sent him up to the attic to locate a lamp that she was looking for. Although after an hour of searching through boxes with no luck, he finally gave up, coming into the kitchen calling, “Hey, Rain, I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find the⏤”

“Surprise!”

Klaus stopped dead, no pun intended, in his tracks. He stared at the scene in front of him with round eyes. “What⏤?”

“Happy Birthday!” Susan cheered. 

“Come blow out your candle,” Pete ordered good-naturedly. “Hiding this from you was almost impossible!” He was holding a massive chocolate cake decorated with delicate frosting flowers and neat curling script that read, _Happy Birthday Klaus!_

It was stunning.

They burst into a chorus, singing, “Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!”

Klaus took a tiny sharp breath, staring at his name through the flickering candles.

“Happy Birthday, dear⏤” 

“Klaus?” Lillian asked, breaking from the song. The others fell silent around her as Lillian’s smile slid into concern. “Are you okay?”

Klaus nodded rapidly even as a tear escaped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly. “I’m fine. I’m⏤ It’s just, I’ve never had a birthday cake before.” He was lost for what he could possibly say other than, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, honey. Come here.” Susan enveloped him in a hug and despite being about a full foot shorter than him, she reduced Klaus to a child as he melted into her. 

"We love you, Klaus,” Lillian told him just as kindly. She traded places with Susan and gave him a firm embrace. 

"Thank you,” Klaus managed to choke out. He straightened up, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize for feeling your emotions, Klaus,” Rain reminded him. 

He gave her a watery smile, turning back to Pete. “Fuck, sorry. I’m letting wax get into your cake.”

“Aw, no problem, man. Besides, it’s _your_ cake.”

And fuck that almost made him cry again. 

“Go ahead, make a wish.”

Before he could consider it, the wish _Next year with all of us_ , flashed through his mind and Klaus blew out the candles. 

There was applause and Klaus was clapped on the back encouragingly by Daniel. “Let’s eat!” he cheered. 

"How did you even know?” he finally thought to ask as they crowded around the table. 

“I remembered from when I was helping you fill out your school forms,” Lauren admitted. 

It startled him, to have someone care enough to remember but Klaus found he didn't mind it at all.

He and Lauren smiled at each other in the secretive way that only true friends could understand, communicating with their eyes. 

_T_ _hank you,_ Klaus told her.

 _No need,_ she responded. 

"Alright, the first piece goes to the birthday boy!” Pete called, handing him an enormous slice with a large flower on top. Klaus laughed happily and accepted it.

He made brief eye contact with Ben, raising his cake in a tiny toast to the both of them. As if seeing the guilt that lingered behind his eyes, Ben told Klaus to just eat it already and enjoy himself. His smile was more genuine than almost any he'd given Klaus since his death.

The eight of them, recovering addicts and yoga instructors and counselors and ghosts, sat together long into the setting light of the orange October sun, eating cake and laughing. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion of past abusive relationship   
> TW: panic attack 
> 
> *****
> 
> Thank you to everyone from reading! I love all of you so much!!!!!!!! If you're willing, please leave a comment! I really appreciate every single one so please don't worry about it being a "lame comment". Those don't exist!  
> Thanks and love,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aye-of-newt)


	26. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus undertakes the terrifying and beautiful process of being known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> Ah!!! We're getting so close!!!!!! I've spent a huge amount of time this week working on the sequel and I am in equal parts excited and terrified. I just want it to be good because yall are so lovely and kind and I want to give you everything you deserve!!!!! 
> 
> Your comments have been fueling me as always and I hope this chapter gives you joy and catharsis. You've earned it.

After his panic attack, the one thing that didn’t fully work itself out was Klaus’ sessions with Noah. If Klaus thought he was prying before, it was nothing compared to Noah’s relentless questioning after. 

“And why do you think Luther _took your father’s side_ , as you phrased it, Klaus?” Noah asked at a session about a week after Klaus’s birthday. He sat back and watched Klaus' reaction, stroking his beard. 

Klaus played with the Rubik’s Cube Noah kept in his office, turning the squares mindlessly, not really trying to solve it. “He was always Dad’s favorite.”

“And why do you say that?”

“He, our dad I mean, always praised Luther the most. No one could ever be as _competent_ , as _responsible,_ as _perfect_ as his precious Number One.” 

“Number One?”

 _Fuck._

“Klaus? Is there something you want to share?”

Klaus glanced up to see Noah giving him a meaningful look. 

“You know, don’t you,” Klaus realized with cold dread.

“Know what?”

Klaus made a face. “That I was in the Umbrella Academy." His stomach constricted, it had been years since he’d mentioned that name aloud to anyone, and never while sober or without a mask. 

Noah gave him a guilty smile. “I suspected. Your last name _is_ Hargreeves.”

Okay, so Klaus felt a little dumb. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“It was important for you to tell me yourself when you were ready.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say to that and settled for sitting back on the couch. “Huh.”

“And don’t worry, Klaus, I won’t tell anyone. Even if I wanted to, I legally can’t. Everything we say here is confidential.” 

“So what, you don’t care?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Klaus. I do _care,_ I just don’t feel any differently about you as a person for it.” 

“I’ve killed people,” Klaus said suddenly, needing Noah to understand the horrible things Klaus had done, that he was twisted and wrong and bad.

“I know,” Noah said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Klaus. Especially as a child.”

“You’re not going to report me for being a murder? Isn’t that a requirement of your job or something?”

“The police decided a long time ago not to interfere with the Academy. They celebrated you as much as anyone else. But that was unfair to put upon children.”

Klaus wasn’t unsure why Noah’s calm reaction upset him more than disgust or fear would have. “But...”

“Klaus, do you feel like you’re a murder?” Noah asked softly.

He couldn’t respond but Noah nodded as if he understood. “Klaus, in my opinion, you are a soldier drafted into a war you didn’t ask for. Have you killed anyone since leaving the Academy?” 

“No, but⏤”

“Did you ever kill someone for the fun of it?”

“No, but⏤ ”

“Did you _want_ to kill anyone?”

Klaus paused. That was a complicated question. 

Noah waited until Klaus was ready to speak. 

“There was one day,” he began, his voice low, his eyes fixed on something far away. “We were fourteen. We thought it was a drug-smuggling ring.” Klaus squeezed his eyes shut as the memories burned bright in his mind. “But it wasn’t. We went down into that basement and⏤” his voice broke off. Klaus drove the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub the sight from them. 

“And what, Klaus? What did you see?” Noah spoke so carefully but Klaus still flinched. 

“People,” his voice cracked as he spoke. “I could _feel_ the death in that room. It filled my lungs until I couldn’t breathe because of it. Sometimes, I’ll walk past a dumpster or something will waft up from the subway, something rotten and sour, and I’ll smell it again. It will be like I’m back there in that pit. They knew we were coming, and they just killed them all.”

Noah watched him with heavy grief in his eyes. 

“I wanted to kill them. I was happy to,” Klaus confessed. 

Noah said nothing for a long time. Finally, he told Klaus so tenderly he might have been talking to the child who went into that basement, “I don’t think anyone would blame you for that.”

“But you know, other than that,” Klaus tried to joke, forcing a painful smile onto his face even as his cheeks were still damp with tears. “No, I usually wasn’t into the whole killing thing.”

At the sight of Noah’s serious face, the smile slid off of Klaus’s. “You don’t need to pretend that you’re okay, Klaus,” Noah told him.

Klaus hadn't been aware that was an option. Knowing it was felt odd. LIke he was breaking a rule just considering it.

“Any emotion that you have in here is okay. You can talk about things that hurt you and made you angry and you won’t be punished for it.”

Klaus nodded. “I know.”

“But you still struggle with that.” Noah wasn’t asking. 

Reluctantly, Klaus inclined his chin. _Yes._

“We’ll keep working on it,” Noah assured him. “I think that it is likely that you have PTSD, Klaus. I have suspected as much for a long time, but your recent panic attack was what all but confirmed it for me.”

 _They were back to that again, great._ Klaus grimaced. 

“Do you want to tell me what triggered you that day, Klaus? Was it a smell or something else that reminded you of that basement?”

“No.”

“No it wasn’t the basement or no you don’t want to tell me?”

“Both.”

Noah sighed. “Okay. You are allowed to take your time to process things, Klaus. I think we’ve made a lot of progress today and if you’re too worn out to continue, then we can call it a day.”

Klaus started to agree to that but paused, “Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know what my number is?” he asked, more out of curiosity than anything. He needed to know how much Noah knew about Klaus that he hadn’t indicated. 

“I wasn’t fully sure, but based on the pictures I saw, I would guess Number Four.”

Slowly, Klaus nodded. 

Noah watched him waiting. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions about it?” Klaus asked defensively. Back when he was part of the Academy, people were fascinated by his power, sending endless requests for him to conjure their lost love ones. Reginald only accepted the ones that were interesting. Murders mostly.

“Do you want to talk about it, Klaus?” was all Noah asked. 

“I⏤” Klaus was in unfamiliar waters. “I don’t know. I just… thought you would have questions.”

“There are things that I want to talk about with you as your therapist, Klaus. And yes, I admit that as a person, I am fascinated by your ability. Who wouldn’t be? But _you_ are also a person, not a zoo attraction or a magic eight ball. It’s up to you if you want to share something.”

Klaus didn’t respond, his feet metaphorically knocked out from under him.

“I think we should call it a day for now,” Noah suggested. “It’s been an emotional session. Are you okay to leave?”

Klaus nodded and stood. He thought it was always a little funny when he was asked that. The furthest he was going was downstairs. 

“I’ll see you next time, alright?” Noah asked, gilding him to the door. 

Klaus was suddenly overcome with relief and gratitude and he lunged forward, hugging Noah tightly. 

Noah froze, his arms up in the air around Klaus like he was being held hostage. As he recovered, he carefully gave Klaus a small squeeze back. “Usually I don’t do this with my patients,” he joked. 

Coming back to himself, Klaus quickly stepped away, his face bright red. “Sorry! Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I don’t mind, Klaus,” Noah interrupted kindly. 

“Oh, good. Sorry again. I just,” Klaus fumbled with his words. “Thanks,” he finally settled on, sticking his hands in his back pockets before he did something else stupid like try to give him a handshake. He rocked back on his heels, feeling awkward. 

“Anytime.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just go.” Klaus pointed at the door. 

Noah gave a tiny huff of laughter and moved aside so Klaus could leave. 

“Wait,” Klaus paused just outside the door. "Does anyone else know?”

“I haven’t said anything,” Noah told him. “But I can’t say for sure if anyone else has put the pieces together.”

“Right. Thanks. Again. Sorry.” Klaus all but bolted, unsure exactly how he felt about that possibility. 

***

“What do you think?” Klaus asked Ben, sitting fully dressed on the bathroom counter, the fan running to cover the sound of his voice. 

“He hasn’t given you any reason to mistrust him,” Ben pointed out rationally. 

“No,” Klaus agreed. “But now that I’ve confirmed it that he knows… He’s a scientist who’s effectively studying me right now. What if he gets tired of me not cooperating?”

Ben thought for a minute, his face scrunched in concentration. “I don’t think he would, Klaus.” 

“But⏤”

“Think about it, Klaus. Before you found out that he knew, were you afraid of Noah?”

“No, but still–"

“Did you think he would be the type of person to intentionally hurt you for the sake of _science_?” Ben put air quotes around the last word raising his eyebrows to indicate how loosely he used the word.

“Well, no⏤”

“Has he ever forced you to do something you didn’t want to do? Like really forced you? Not just asked annoying questions until you responded?”

“No.” Noah had always been respectful of Klaus’s limits. 

“Then why do you think this would change that?”

“I don’t know,” Klaus muttered, kicking his heel against the cupboards under the vanity with soft thunks. “I’ve never had a normal person know about it before. I guess I just don’t know what they would do. Dad⏤” his voice broke off. 

“Dad was off his rocker,” Ben assured him. “We all know that. I don’t think his behavior is a good model to base your understanding of normal people off of.”

Klaus cracked a smile at that. “Point taken.”

“Now the question is, are you going to let him help you?”

Klaus took a pause. “I don’t know.”

Ben nodded. 

They sat together a while longer before Ben said, “If you don’t get out of here soon, people are going to think you have food poisoning or something.”

Klaus laughed and got up to flush the toilet. For appearances. 

***

“Can I talk to you?” Klaus asked Lillian three days later after their group session had ended for the afternoon. 

“Of course,” Lillian smiled at him. “You want to sit down?”

He nodded and plunked down in a chair.

Lillian sat down, definitely more gracefully, next to him. “What did you want to talk about Klaus?”

He looked at her searchingly, trying to decipher any hidden malice that may lurk there despite the kindness she’d always shown. 

Lillian waited patiently, her face open and calm.

“You know, right?” he finally asked. 

“Know?”

“About me?” Klaus pressed, looking her straight in the eyes. 

“Klaus⏤” Lillian looked lost. 

Klaus jerked up his sleeve, baring his tattoo. “You have to know. You were there when I got sent here. You saw _him_.”

“Oh,” Lillian breathed. She reached out tentatively as if she was going to brush her fingers across the ink, before stopping herself. “Yes. I knew.”

Klaus closed his eyes, nodding. He closed his own hand over the tattoo, pulling his arms into himself into the echo of a hug.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought it would be best to let you talk when you were ready.”

“You don’t⏤”

She waited for him to continue and when it became clear he wasn't going g to, Lillian prompted, “What, Klaus?”

“I thought… I don’t know.”

“Whatever your fear was, Klaus, I am sure it was unwarranted. As always, all I want is to be your friend, if you would allow me to be.”

“Klaus,” he repeated, his voice raw. 

“What was that?” Lillian asked.

“Klaus. My name. You know, I didn’t have one until I was fourteen? Until then, I was just _Number Four._ Da⏤ _Reginald_ never called me anything other than that. For him, it was always just Four.”

“I can’t imagine,” Lillian whispered. 

“I didn’t know anything different,” Klaus gave her a crooked, wounded smile. “How fucked is that?”

“No child deserves that, Klaus.”

“We were never treated like children. He was more of a scientist than a father. We were like rats to him. He might have grown somewhat attached to us in his own strange way, but he would have kept us running through the mazes until we died. Fuck, Ben _did_.” 

Klaus tried not to think of when he first told Reginald he couldn’t find Five and the emotion he saw in his father’s eyes that looked far too similar to grief. He couldn’t allow Reginald to have humanity in his memories, because if he did, if he had ever loved any of his children, then that just meant that Klaus was the one who was _wrong_. It would mean that Reginald was capable of love, and Klaus just didn’t deserve it. 

Ever so slowly, telegraphing her movements clearly so he could reject her if he wanted, Lillian placed her hand over Klaus’s. 

He gripped it back, their fingers blurring together as his eyes filled. 

Lillian didn’t say anything else and Klaus was grateful. Sometimes, there are no words to say.

***

With his increased control over his abilities, Klaus was back on operation Make Ben Look Less Tragic (Like Maybe He Died In His Twenties or Something). Or MBLLTLMHDIHTOS for short. 

Klaus was working on the name. 

“Well, what do _you_ think you would look like now?” Klaus asked in exasperation, throwing his hands up as he failed yet again to create any significant change in Ben’s appearance. 

“I don’t know! Older!”

“ _Wow_ , thank you for that vivid description.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Do you want to do this or not?”

Ben scowled but shut up.

“Again, give me something to go off of.”

“Okay, fine. Start with my face.”

“Aw, Benji, I think your face looks just fine. You’re so handsome.” Klaus teased in a syrupy-sweet voice.

“Klaus.” Ben was not amused. 

“Fine. What about it?”

“Get rid of my baby-face.”

“Okay, no pinchable cheeks.”

Ben glowered at him.

Klaus just closed his eyes, rolling his shoulders back a few times and stretching his neck from side to side. “Okay, I’m focusing. No baby cheeks.”

Ben sighed.

Klaus imagined Ben’s face turning more angular, his jaw more defined like Diego’s had turned. Compelled to do something more impressive than sit there like an idiot, Klaus wiggled his fingers in Ben’s direction. 

“Klaus,” he said dryly. “You look like a dumbass.”

“You know Ben, the more often you say that the less impact it has.” He opened his eyes. “You should really think of a new⏤”

“What?”

Klaus gawked at him, his mouth slightly ajar. 

“What?” Ben asked again, more pressingly.

“I think it might have worked?”

“Wait, really?”

Klaus held up the small hand mirror he’d brought. 

Ben stared at his reflection. “Woah.” He didn’t quite look like he was twenty-four, but he didn’t look sixteen anymore either. “Do it again!”

“This is all you hang around me for, isn’t it?”

“Klaus, stop playing the victim.”

“Sheesh, you’ve gotten demanding in death.”

“I’ve spent too long hanging out with you.”

“You do know I have the power to change you back right?”

“You don’t even know how you did this.”

“Yes I do, I wiggled my fingers in a, what was it again? _Dumbass_ way?”

“Okay, okay, fine. I apologize. Happy?”

“Yep!” Klaus popped the p loudly, grinning in self-satisfaction. 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Can we get back to working on this?” he pointed at his face. 

“You know Ben, you’re pretty vain for a dead man,” Klaus quipped, but he closed his eyes all the same. 

“The dead jokes are getting a little old, Klaus.”

“Shh, I’m focusing.” 

***

“Hey.”

Klaus startled at Lauren’s soft voice, turning to look up at her from where he sat on the back steps. 

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Klaus moved over to make room for her. 

She sat next to him, her elbow brushing against his. They sat in silence, watching the grass. “Are you okay?” she finally asked.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve noticed that there’s been something going on with you the last few days,” Lauren started carefully. “I thought you might want to talk about it?”

Klaus took a breath to steel himself. “I lied.”

“About what?”

“Or maybe I should say that I didn’t tell the whole truth.”

“Klaus?”

“Do you know the Umbrella Academy?”

Lauren’s forehead folded in confusion as she stared at him. “Yes, of course. Who doesn’t? We talked about them a lot in law school, about the ethics and legal implications of vigilante justice and using children to fight crime. But I don’t understand. What is this about, Klaus?”

“I was Number Four,” he told her. 

“Number? What⏤” Lauren halted as she realized. “You were⏤?”

“Number Four. _The Séance_ ,” he spat sarcastically. Klaus held up his arm for her to see, the umbrella still stubbornly dark so many years later. 

“Holy shit.”

He snorted a little. “Yeah.”

Lauren processed. “So you can...”

“Talk to dead people? Yes.”

“How?”

“Why could any of us do any of it? Fuck if I know. Why did my birth mother pop me out like the Virgin Mary then sell me off to a strange man in a monocle? When I was a kid, I couldn’t even use my powers on my own. I need _assistance,_ as my dad called it.”

“Reginald Hargreeves,” Lauren breathed. 

“Yes, him,” Klaus waved his hand lazily. “That’s why he drugged me. To use me. Use my powers. For a long time, I could only access them when I was high. But I got addicted and even when I left… they were the only way that I could see Ben.”

“Your brother,” Lauren said, remembering the first day Klaus had come to the center. 

“Yeah. _Six_ ,” he clarified. 

“So now that you’re clean… does that mean you don’t have your powers anymore?”

“For a time, in prison, I couldn’t see him. It was actually the first time in life that I’d been without at least one of my siblings. My hypothesis⏤ see, I’ve been working on my science flashcards⏤ my _hypothesis_ is that the relaxing effects of whatever opioid I was on opened up something in my mind, or took something down. When I started meditating like Lillian taught me, I realized that there was a way to do that on my own. The first time I conjured Ben sober, it was an accident. But I’ve been working on it since then. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at it.” He smiled almost shyly in his pride. 

Lauren looked stunned. “I… I just don’t know how to respond. I mean, wow.”

“Yeah, it’s not every day you find out your rehab friend is an ex-vigilante ghost whisperer.”

“No, it’s not,” Lauren snickered a little bit. “I’m sorry, I'm just processing.”

“That’s fair.”

“I guess all that I can think to say is thank you for trusting me.”

Klaus frowned at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“I imagine it must have been difficult for you to talk about this, so thank you for trusting me.”

“Oh well, you know, you trusted me first.”

Lauren tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Hey, Klaus?”

“Hmm?”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Lillian does. And Noah.”

She nodded. “Are you going to tell the others?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s what friends do.” She bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

Klaus copied her motion and they both laughed a little as the heavy seriousness of the moment lessened. 

They sat together on the steps in comfortable silence for the rest of their break time. 

***

“So you have only managed to make a connection with your brother while sober?” Noah asked. Klaus had begun to slowly open up to him over the past weeks about his childhood. 

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried to reach out any other… spirits?”

Klaus shuddered. “No.”

“Why not?”

He paused, but decided he’d played the game out long enough. “Remember my panic attack?”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, uh, that was just from _thinking_ about it.”

“Does the idea of using your powers in that way trigger memories of your childhood?”

“Mmm.”

“But talking to Ben doesn’t?”

“Ben is safe.”

“Could you elaborate on that for me?”

Klaus picked at his nail polish. “He never… He didn’t.” He huffed in frustration and started again. “When someone comes back as a ghost, they look exactly the way they did when they died. _Exactly.”_

“Okay,” Noah said slowly.

“And usually, the people who come back died in a violent way. The movies got that much right at least.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I imagine that was traumatic for you as a child.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen more entrails than a surgeon.” Klaus winced as he realized he maybe should have softened that detail for Noah.

He didn’t appear bothered, continuingly calmly, “And you’re afraid what you’ll see if you open yourself back up to other ghosts?”

“I guess.”

“Is there something else?”

“They always asked me for help.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. A lot of the time I couldn’t even talk to them. I was too afraid.” He admitted the last part quietly, afraid of Noah’s judgment. 

“As I am sure most people’s reaction would be.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “He used to bring me case files. For missing people or unsolved murders.”

“He, your father?”

“Mmhmm. He wanted me to find them.”

“Did you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you think that helped them?”

“I don’t know. I usually didn’t see them again after that.”

“If you had to guess, why do you think that would be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they went On.”

“On?”

“To the real afterlife.”

“There is an afterlife other than being a ghost?” 

Klaus glanced up to see Noah leaning forward in interest. Almost unconsciously, he drew further away. “Yes,” he answered tentatively. 

“How do you know?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been there.”

Noah’s mouth fell open as he stared at Klaus. Seeming to realize himself, he clipped his jaw shut with a small click. “Let’s discuss that.”

Klaus watched Noah closely, but it seemed like most of his questions had more to do with how Klaus felt about his powers than prying into how they worked. Slowly, he allowed himself to believe that maybe Noah was _safe_ too. 

***

If Klaus were feeling particularly literary, he might have said that opening up emotionally unlocked his powers further. Within three days of telling Lauren about his childhood, he finally managed what he’d been attempting with Ben for weeks. 

“Do you feel different?”

“I don’t know…” Ben inspected his face carefully. “I mean, the world looks weird from three inches higher.” 

“I tried to keep our height ratio the same as it was when we were kids,” Klaus explained. 

“You just wanted to still be taller than me.”

“I can still shrink you, you know.”

“You wouldn’t.”

(He wouldn’t.)

“Is that?” Ben yanked the mirror closer. “Klaus, did you give me a wrinkle?”

“You’re the one that wanted to look older.”

“That was supposed to be the one benefit of dying young!

“Hey, pick a lane!”

  
***

“Klaus, you’ve been quiet today. Is there anything you would like to share?” Lillian prodded gently. It had been a week and a half since their discussion about his identity and she hadn't pressured him about it any further. 

“I…” His hands twisted his bracelets anxiously. 

“You don’t have to,” Lillian assured him. 

His heart pounded in his ears as Klaus looked down at his wrists. Slowly, he began to remove the leather bands that no one there, bar Lillian, had ever seen him without. Next to him, Klaus could hear Susan’s intake of breath as she saw the scars. Letting the bracelets fall into his lap, Klaus held out his arms so that everyone could see them. He could feel their eyes on him, but he couldn’t bear to raise his head to return their gaze. “When I was twelve-years-old,” he began, his voice not above a strangled whisper, “I broke my jaw.”

The story poured out of him, halting and disjointed in places. As he spoke, Klaus was vaguely aware of the trembling that ran through his hands, but he felt disconnected from it. No one moved to touch him or ask a question until he finally ran out of steam, ending with his final arrest. Klaus had no idea how much time had passed as he talked, but his lips were dry and his throat burned. Slowly coming back to his body, he curled and uncurled his prickling sleeping fingers into his palms, his tattoos staring up at him, mockingly. 

He startled when Susan’s own soft hand slid between his. Before he could stop himself, Klaus looked up at her. 

Her eyes were rimmed with red as she gave a broken smile. “Oh, honey,” she sobbed. “Can I hug you?”

Stiffly, Klaus nodded. 

She held him as, for the first time in a long while, Klaus let himself break down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied past human trafficking 
> 
> ****  
> One more to go....
> 
> As always, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and I beg of you to leave a comment. I adore them all. Long. Short. Just emojis. Detailed rambling messes that will make me want to cry with joy that anyone cares that much about my bs little fic. Please. Leave it all. Or come yell at me on tumblr. Honestly, the best part of my day is always seeing your kind words <3
> 
> Love and appreciation,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aye-of-newt)


	27. Au Revoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus makes progress with his powers and faces the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end
> 
> I can't really believe it's here. This is my King Lear. Genuinely. (Remember that phase of quarantine?) Like I had notes for this fic for months and months and a few scenes but never sat down to really commit to it until like March... and then I wrote 150k. 
> 
> More than I've ever written for anything ever. 
> 
> Although this journey isn't over yet, this is a huge milestone and I'm so weirdly emotional about it? This whole experience has just been amazing and I feel like I've grown so much from it. And it's all thanks to you wonderful people.
> 
> When I started uploading, I told myself that if I got five comments on a chapter I would consider it a success. 
> 
> Yall left more than *five times* that many on the last chapter. 
> 
> Really, without you folks, I would never have made it this far. Your lovely words genuinely make me want to cry at times and have inspired me to be a better writer. I hope that I can give you all that you deserve with this chapter and the following sequels. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop being mushy and lame lmao. 
> 
> Here's our favorite nb mess who is slowly becoming a functional person. (And we love to see it).

As much as it absolutely infuriated Klaus to admit it (he hated being wrong ), opening up about his past had taken a weight off of him that he hadn’t even fully known he carried. He had told his past, revealed some of his most intimate secrets and vulnerabilities and he was not shamed nor threatened. His friends were not angry or repulsed by him, but on his behalf. They did not turn to use him for their own gain, but swore to keep his secret and thereby protect him from anyone who came looking. 

Three days after his breakdown in group, Klaus was sitting on the backstep and nursing his cup of coffee as the sun finished its morning climb when he came to the realization that he trusted everyone in the house behind him. He was not bracing himself, on edge for fear of discovery. His back was turned to the place an attacker was most likely to come, but Klaus was not afraid. 

He knew that he was safe.

He was not going to be beaten or drugged or sent marching out on missions.

He was not a tool or a thing. 

He was not a piece of trash to be tossed away when it no longer serves its purpose or an unsightly blot on the sidewalk to be ignored and avoided. 

And perhaps more importantly to Klaus, he was not going to be ridiculed or mocked for just being himself. If he wanted, he could let them know him, and they would still be his friends. 

To his surprise, Klaus found his eyes growing damp at that thought and he wiped at them quickly as he heard the faint sounds of someone gently opening the back door. 

“Hey,” Susan whispered, clearly trying to avoid startling him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Klaus turned to smile at her and nodded. He scooted to the side and patted the stair next to him, offering her a seat.

Susan carefully crept across the stoop, mindful of not spilling her mug. She nestled down next to him, bundling herself tightly in her blanket against the chill of the fall morning. 

They sat in compatible silence, drinking their coffee for several minutes, watching the birds that had not yet flown south circle lazily above them. 

“Susan,” Klaus said after a moment of internal debate. “Remember when you asked about my pronouns?”

“Yes.”

“I really appreciated that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she said.

“It was to me. I am fine with using he _,_ like I am what I am and it doesn’t matter what people call me. But like, knowing that people would care enough to respect it if I wanted to be called something else? Uh, that was like, life-changing. Or something." He blushed, embarrassed by his own sincerity. "Before I came here, people didn’t think about me like you do. I wasn’t a person. I was just… weird.” That was the nicest word he could think of to describe how the world had always viewed him. 

Susan touched his shoulder lightly. “Klaus, you don’t have to thank me for giving you basic decency,” she told her, her voice heavy but so tenderly kind.

Klaus couldn’t find it in him to explain to her that, to him, basic decency was a foreign concept. Instead, he just leaned into her touch. 

Susan seemed to understand to some extent and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him into a sideways hug. Klaus relaxed into her warm and steady side, leaning his head against her shoulder. They enjoyed a few moments of peace together in the stillness of the morning, calm and safe, the world kept at bay by the bounds of the house that had become a sanctuary. 

***

“I can’t look.” The results of Klaus’ GED test were one terrifying click away.

“Klaus, you studied your ass off for three months. I helped you with your practice tests. You’re going to pass,” Lauren told him encouragingly. 

“But my math⏤”

“You nailed the last quiz I gave you, there is no way that you’re going to fail,” Daniel told him, giving Klaus a light shove on the shoulder. 

“Just look already!” Pete urged. “Putting it off won’t help.”

Everyone gave him a look.

“Not that I think it’s going to be bad!” Pete amended. 

“Come on, Klaus,” Ben prodded. “I know it’s not going to be as bad as whatever you’re thinking.”

“Fine,” he groaned. Everyone crowded closer behind his chair, holding their collective breath. He clicked view results and immediately closed his eyes.

There was a pause and then⏤ 

“Whoo!”

“Fuck yes!”

“I told you!”

Klaus was clapped roughly on the back and he opened his eyes. 

_Congratulations! You’ve earned your GED! Cumulative Score: 564_

“Five sixty-four! Five sixty-four!” Daniel and Susan cheered, jumping up and down. 

“That’s really good, Klaus!” Lauren cheered. 

“Congratulations,” Ben beamed at him. 

Slowly, Klaus began to smile to himself, pride swelling in his chest. 

“This calls for a celebration!” Rain announced.

They were approved for a small outing to retrieve party supplies which included a stop at a video rental store. Inside, the group spread somewhat out through the aisles, searching for something everyone could agree on.

“What do you want?” Klaus asked over the rack of new releases. 

“It’s your party,” Daniel pointed out. “You pick.”

Klaus was about to wander off when he saw Allison smiling up at him from the display⏤ apparently she’d done another movie while he was in prison. Despite realizing that Allison wouldn’t know the difference if he saw it or not, Klaus felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt having missed it. Klaus picked up the case and held it up so the others could see.“Hey, do you mind?” he asked the room.

“ _Love on London Two_? I didn’t take you as a traditional rom-com type of⏤ oh.” Lauren cut herself off as she realized. 

“I try to watch all her stuff,” Klaus admitted. “Haven’t gotten the chance to see this one yet.”

“I loved the first one,” Susan gushed. “She’s a wonderful actress.” 

“Eh, she’s fine I guess,” Klaus joked. 

It ended up being an average movie, but Klaus still got a little choked up at the end, if only because, in his eyes, it was Allison who glowed with happiness as she got everything she ever wanted. 

***

“Page,” Ben said, his book laid out in front of him. 

Without looking up, Klaus reached across the table and turned it for him.

“Uh, Klaus?” 

He jumped and turned to the door. Lauren was watching him with an odd expression on her face. “What are you doing?”

The instinct to lie bubbled up in Klaus, years of experience drilling it to second nature. But, he reminded himself, there was no need for that anymore. Forcefully, he swallowed the flair of panic and answered, “Ben’s reading.”

Lauren’s eyes widened for a moment before she quickly schooled her expression again. “He’s here?” she asked in forced casualness.

“Yeah,” Klaus admitted, his fingers curling in as he fought the urge to run.

“That’s… amazing,” Lauren said. She looked at the chair across from Klaus intently. “Can he hear me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay, uh, hi, Ben,” she started.

Ben, despite knowing what was coming, still startled at being spoken to by anyone other than Klaus. He watched Lauren with wide eyes. 

“He says hi,” Klaus filled in. 

Lauren slowly came closer. “Is he always with you?” she asked Klaus.

“More or less.”

Lauren turned to the direction of Ben again and addressed him as best she could, “I’m glad. Everyone needs someone to look after them. I’m sure it's hard for you to do that sometimes, not being able to talk to anyone, but you’ve done a good job taking care of Klaus. I'm really grateful to you for keeping him safe so that I could get to meet him.”

Ben looked very much like he would like to cry as he whispered, “Thank you.”

More than the kind things she said about him, it was the joy on Ben’s face that made Klaus love Lauren so much he would have personally dethroned the Little Girl and put Lauren in her place.

***

“Klaus, come in,” Rain smiled at him, waving him into her office. 

“Hey.” He sat down on one of her bean bags. 

“So you’re getting down to your last weeks with us,” Rain began. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Klaus told her genuinely. “And… unsure.”

“Sounds like we are half-way there then! I’m so glad that you’re feeling well. But tell me, Klaus, what are your biggest concerns for adjusting to life outside rehab?”

“Everything?”

Rain laughed lightly. “Okay, can you break that one down a little more for me?”

Klaus shrugged. “I’ve just never really had a normal life. I’m not sure I know how to do it.”

“You’ve made huge amounts of progress since arriving here, Klaus. You have your GED, you’ve completed our personal finance course with high marks, and you have made unmeasurable advances in therapy.” 

“I guess.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“It’s just different to practice something and actually do it. Out there… there’s temptation.”

“That’s a very common concern. But you’re not going to be completely cut off, Klaus. You have a full resource list of substance abuse meetings in the community, and you can call Lillian or me any time you need to.” 

“I know. And thank you. Really. I’m just, I don't trust myself.”

“I think that you need to believe in yourself, Klaus. Because from where I am sitting, I don’t think you need to be nearly as worried as you are. I won’t lie, the transition from rehab to living on your own is difficult, but I have faith that you can make it.”

Not fully won over, Klaus nodded reluctantly.

"If you are interested, there is an option available for you that's more of a half-way point between total independence and rehab."

"Yeah?" Klaus asked, hopeful. 

"Yes," Rain smiled, passing him a brochure. "It’s a fairly new social welfare program. They provide wonderful, clean, safe housing with low rent to people transferring from things rehab, mental hospitals, or prison. Enrolling in the program requires you to stay clean and out of legal trouble of course, but I'm not too worried about you."

Klaus smiled weakly at that. It was nice she had confidence even if he didn’t. 

"Additionally, the program provides access to a therapist or counselor and social workers who can help you with your journey. All together, it works as a safety net. You'll have a place to stay that is safe and people to give you support and hold you accountable. It's not a forever solution, but you can stay there for up to sixteen months to give you time to acclimate to society again.

"I had a feeling you might be interested so I went ahead and did a check just yesterday to see their availability and there are few open apartments right now. With my referral, you will have no problem getting approved. I was thinking we could take a day trip next Monday to check them out.”

Klaus blinked. “Really?”

“It may seem early, but paperwork and such can take some time to sort out.”

“No, I mean, you can do all of that? For me?”

Rain looked somewhat surprised at them. “Of course. That’s what we do here, Klaus. Some other facilities may wash their hands of their residents once they walk out the door, but we know that staying clean and sober is much harder without any kind of support system. Sending someone back out into the same situation that led to their use in the first place is hardly a constructive way to solve addiction.” 

Klaus didn’t know what to say. “Oh. yeah, I… guess that makes sense. Thanks.” It sounded so perfect Klaus wouldn't have trusted it if he didn't trust Rain.

“No need,” she assured them. “It’s my job and I love doing it.”

He smiled at her. Rain was fucking incredible. 

“Now that we have housing addressed, I did want to talk to you about finding a job.”

“Right.” Klaus had nearly forgotten about that aspect. 

“We have a list of businesses here that we’ve worked with in the past to find a placement for our transitioning residents. You don’t have to apply to any of them, but it’s a good place to start.” Rain slid a piece of paper across to Klaus. “Do you see anything here that you’re interested in?”

Klaus scanned the list. “Um, _Another Man’s Treasure Thrift?_ ”

“Oh! Great choice! Darryl, one of our former residents, is the owner. I’ll give him a call this afternoon. Of course, there will still be an interview, but don’t be too worried. For him, it’s mostly a formality.” 

“Right." The closest thing Klaus had ever had to an interview was when Ms. O called him to her office to ask him to push for her. He had zero idea what to expect from this Darryl guy. 

Rain continued, “I wanted to ask, are you interested in continuing your education at all? With your score on the GED you could easily get into any college you wanted.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? There are plenty of scholarships and governmental assistance programs that could help you afford it.”

He shook his head. The GED was fine, and Klaus was glad he’d gotten it, but he didn’t exactly enjoy the process all the same. “I don’t think school is really for me. Besides, I have no idea what I’d study.” 

Rain didn’t press the issue any further but assured them, “You can always change your mind later.” 

Klaus doubted he would but let it slide. 

“Finally, last thing I _promise_ , there is the matter of your petition to have your record sealed.”

Klaus had nearly forgotten about that. It would be undeniably better for him to have that conviction off his record, but the possibility had always seemed so far away Klaus hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate it. 

Rain continued, “We will need to file the paperwork soon if you are still interested in pursuing that case. I won’t tell you what to do, but I do think you have a good chance, Klaus.”

What the hell. If Rain thought he should, he might as well. She probably knew more than him. “I guess. If you think I should.”

“I can’t make your decisions for you, Klaus,” she reprimanded lightly. “As someone who has seen a lot of these kinds of cases, I can offer you my expert opinion, but the final decision is yours.”

“But you do think that I’ll get off?” 

“There is no guarantee, but I am cautiously optimistic.” 

Klaus mulled that over. 

Rain added, “But, I should also warn you that you will most likely be asked to speak about your addiction before the judge. They may ask prying or uncomfortable questions.”

Klaus didn’t really expect anything else. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“I’ll go for it.” At that point, it couldn’t really hurt. 

Rain smiled. “Wonderful! So I have the paperwork here⏤ ”

***

“And how have those experiments with Ben been going?” Noah asked. 

Despite having confided in him a small number of times, it was still strange for Klaus to hear Noah acknowledge his powers or Ben. “We haven’t really made much progress,” Klaus admitted. It was true, although his stamina with his powers had improved, and he had been able to maintain Ben’s new image, the scope of Klaus’s powers had not increased for some time.

Noah nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think that practicing with Ben has improved your relationship with your powers in general?”

“Like how?”

“Would you consider using them to speak to someone else, besides Ben? I know you've struggled with it in the past, but it may be healing for you to use your powers when fully in control."

Anxiety immediately shot through Klaus’s spine. “I don’t know.”

“I think it may be healthy for you to⏤”

“Why?” Klaus demanded, tensing. He looked quickly to the door, a potential escape route already formed. “Do you want me to be _useful_ to you? Because if you wanted to force me to talk to someone you already know that all it takes is⏤”

“Klaus,” Noah interrupted calmly but firmly, “I am not interested in taking advantage of your powers. I just want to help you overcome the trauma inflicted upon you as a child.” 

There was a long pause while Klaus scrutinized Noah, who sat completely still, allowing Klaus to make the next move. He deflated. “I know. Sorry, it’s just,” Klaus gestured vaguely. 

“A learned defensive response. I understand.” Noah said kindly. “You are still afraid of your powers, Klaus and that is compounding on the PTSD of your childhood. I think that using your powers on your terms may help you to overcome the fear that you have of yourself and take back some of the control that your father held over you.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Would it help to have someone else there when you try?”

Klaus looked at Ben. “I mean, someone usually is.”

Noah followed Klaus’ line of sight. “Wha⏤ oh! Right, of course,” he addressed the general area that Ben was in. “My apologies.”

“That’s still so weird,” Ben commented, squinting at Noah. 

“He doesn’t mind,” Klaus said.

Ben glared at him.

“Righ, what was I saying? Ah, yes. Would it help for you to have some else, besides Ben of course, there to support you? Maybe Lillian or one of your other friends here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done that.”

“Do you think you’d like to try?”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.”

***

Klaus did think about it, but found it hard to make a decision one way or the other. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else witnessing his powers or his vulnerability, but Noah had a point about his lingering fear.

“You’re being released one way or the other in three weeks, Klaus. You’re running out of time to make a decision.” Ben’s comment on the matter was not helpful. 

Klaus told him as much.

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, he’s a trained professional in helping people deal with trauma. If he can’t help you, I don’t know who can.”

“Thanks,” Klaus muttered dryly. 

“Stop making dumb things personal.”

“I can feel the love.”

“Klaus.”

“Fine. Sorry.” He exhaled, flopping back onto the bed. “You know what it was like,” he reminded Ben quietly. The Crypt curled in the back of his mind.

Ben softened. “I do. And I don’t want to see that happen to you again. But if you don’t find a way to control your powers, then you’re going to spend your whole life running from them.”

“Cheerful.”

“Come on. I’m trying to be serious.”

“I know. I’m deflecting or whatever.”

“Ooo, good therapy speak.”

“Now who’s deflecting?”

“Sorry.”

Klaus huffed, blowing his bangs out of his face. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll do it.” 

Ben smiled. “Good. Think of it as a _fuck you_ to Dad.”

“...Actually, that helps.”

***

Ultimately, Klaus decided he would be most comfortable limiting the number of people in the room, even if he did trust everyone at Healing Sage. So, when he and Noah met to do their first session of exposure therapy, only Ben accompanied him. 

“Do you want to lay down?” Noah hovered awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what the process looks like.”

“I’m good sitting here,” Klaus told him from the floor. He didn’t mention that laying down would make it so much worse because of the bed he’d been strapped to at the Academy. 

Thankfully, Noah agreed to his rules. “Okay, I’m following your lead.”

Klaus took off his shoes. 

“Is that part of your process?”

“I don’t know why, but it helps.” Maybe it had something to do with feeling more directly connected to the ground, but whatever the reason, it centered Klaus. He was just more focused on keeping any coping techniques that he had rather than questioning why they worked. 

“Interesting," Noah remarked lightly. "Well, whatever you need is more than okay with me.”

Klaus made himself comfortable on the floor, resting his back against the couch, placing his palms on the floor. 

“Are you ready?” Noah asked softly. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Okay, just remember that I’m here. You’re safe.”

Klaus gave him a quick nod and closed his eyes. To his left, Ben assured him as well, “And so am I.”

Klaus began to slow his breathing down, falling into the familiar rhythm. 

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

He felt himself, the thing that made him _Klaus_ , that which one might call the soul, begin to detach until it only clung to its host by a thin thread. The sensation was not unlike forfeiting control over to drugs as the real world fell into the muffled background. The metaphorical door to the middle plane was already open a crack, allowing Ben to travel between them. Gingerly, Klaus pushed it open further. He could physically feel the current running through him as if he had suddenly become aware of his own blood moving in his veins. “Hello?” he whispered. 

He felt the energy of the spirits surged, sending crackling energy down his arms, but none of them stepped forward. Bracing himself, Klaus pushed the door open a little further. As if caught by a gust of wind, the portal flew open, slipping through his grasp. 

The barrier gone, the dead poured out into the room. Klaus’ eyes snapped open, finding himself surrounded by ghosts. They crowded around him, reaching into the dozens and then more, like every spirit that Klaus had kept at bay over the past years had taken advantage of his momentary weakness to break through to him. 

“Klaus, please, help me.” Klaus let out a strained scream as the woman, a large chunk of her skull torn away, red pulpy mush that was once her brain exposed, reached out to him. He tried to press himself further away, the couch digging painfully into his back. His breath came in short gasps as he cringed into himself.

“Klaus?” Noah asked, slightly panicky. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

His voice barely registered to Klaus over the voices of the dead. 

“He didn’t even stop!” one man wailed, half of his face hanging in shreds from where it had been dragged across the road. _“_ He just kept driving!”

“They said it would be safe! They said I could trust them!” a teenage girl cried. Blood ran down her legs. “The wire was rusted⏤”

“Hitchhiking⏤”

“The gun⏤”

“My daughter⏤”

“Red truck⏤”

“Klaus, please⏤”

“License plate 887-N942⏤”

“Drain cleaner⏤”

“My biology teacher⏤”

“Please⏤”

“Go away, go away, go away,” Klaus moaned. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry.” He rocked himself, trying desperately to push them away, to close the gate again. 

“Klaus, you are safe. I’m right here. You are safe.” Noah was crouched down on the floor across from him, his body intersected by the flickering forms of ghosts. “You are in control, Klaus⏤”

_“Control yourself, Number Four!”_ Reginald growled. _“This is pathetic⏤”_

Klaus whined in fear. “I can’t, I can’t,” he pleaded. 

“Klaus, focus on me!” Ben commanded. 

Looking around him wildly, Klaus finally found Ben, latching his focus onto him. “Help me,” he begged. 

“You can do this, Klaus. Tell them to go away.”

“I can’t,” he sobbed. 

“Yes, you can! You conjured me sober. You conjured half a cemetery of spirits sober. If you have that amount of power, then you can make them go away. Come on, Klaus!” Ben planted himself directly in front of Klaus, keeping his voice determined by calm.

“He shot me!”

Klaus’ attention was jerked to the woman, her stomach red with blood. 

“No! Klaus, eyes on me,” Ben demanded

Klaus’ chest heaved with labored breaths but he looked back to Ben.

“Good. Take deep breaths,” Ben guided him. “You need to calm down and get back in control. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out.” 

Klaus copied Ben’s movements, his own breath jerking and shuddering, but slowly regulating. 

“You’re doing good, Klaus. Just keep breathing,” Ben encouraged. “In. And out. In. And out.”

Klaus’s breath slowed further. He had no idea what Noah was doing, his vision tunneled in on Ben, the safest spot he could imagine. 

“Okay, now, tell them to go away.” Klaus started to turn to do so but Ben stopped him. “No, don’t look at them. Look at me. And tell them, _go away._ ” 

“G-g-go a-away,” Klaus stuttered. 

“Again.”

“Go away.”

“Good. Again.”

“Go away. Go away. Go away. _Please,_ go away.” As he spoke, the room slowly fell quieter and quieter. At his final plea, the last of the spirits were pulled away, banished back into the realm that they’d come from. Klaus felt the power sap from him, receding with nearly the same force with which it had arrived. He slammed the door shut behind them. 

Exhausted, Klaus slumped forward before he was caught in cool, steady hands. He looked up to Ben. “Thank⏤ ” he cut himself off as he realized, looking slowly down at Ben’s hands wrapped around his arms. 

“What⏤” Ben started to say before just as suddenly as he caught Klaus, his physical form slipped and Klaus fell through his intangible hands. 

“Woah.”

Klaus has steadied again, but when he looked up, he caught sight of white whiskers and light reflecting against a round eyeglass, and in that moment it was Reginald who had a hold of him. 

“Don’t touch me!” He shrank back from the hands and Noah, not Reginald, let go of him like he was burned. 

“I’m sorry! No touching.” He spoke as he would to a wounded animal, low and steady. “I’m not going to touch you, Klaus.” 

“Sorry,” he rasped. “I thought⏤ I didn’t know where I was.”

“Confusion can be very common after an experience like that,” Noah assured him. “It’s okay, just center yourself. You’re safe.”

Klaus nodded shakily and returned to his breathing. 

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_And out._

“I’m here,” he finally said when his heart had returned to a normal rhythm. “I’m here.”

“How can I help you, Klaus?” Noah asked. 

“Water?”

A moment later, a cool glass was pressed into his hand. It sloshed badly in his still trembling hand, but Klaus managed to take a drink without drenching himself too badly. “Thank you.”

“Klaus,” Noah began mournfully, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I should have trusted you that it would be too intense. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured. 

“Are you ready to talk about it?” 

“No.”

“Okay. That’s okay, Klaus. Do you want to lay down?”

Klaus nodded. 

“Okay. Do you want help getting to your room?”

“No, no I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Noah offered him his hand to get up. 

Klaus forced himself to take it, feeling guilty for his earlier reaction. The contact sent pinpricks up his arm, his whole body feeling overly sensitive, almost like he was high. He staggered down the hallway to his room, the water still clutched in his hand, half-forgotten. 

Thankfully, he managed to remember to put it down before collapsing onto his bed, weariness making his eyes heavy. 

Ben, still dazed himself, sat down on the foot of the bed, lulling Klaus to sleep with his promise, “I’m here. You’re safe.”

***

No one bothered Klaus to get up the next morning and he slept past ten, waking up confused and blinking against the brilliant sunlight. He adjusted slowly, Ben keeping him company in silence for almost a half-hour before Klaus was ready to talk. 

They started with safe topics. What time it was. (Ten fifteen.) How long had Klaus slept? (Nearly sixteen hours.) Where everyone was and why it was so quiet in the house. (Everyone had heard, literally, what happened the day before and were giving him healing time.)

Klaus eventually made his way downstairs because he couldn’t ignore his growling stomach any longer. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, startled by the full group sitting around the kitchen table when they usually would be off doing their own activities.

They all looked up the sound of his footsteps and there was a tense moment where no one knew what to say.

“Are there any Cocoa Puffs left or did Daniel eat them all?” Klaus finally asked, forcing himself to smile. 

Taking his cue that he didn’t want to talk about, everyone burst back into chatter as if nothing unusual had happened⏤ although Susan told him quietly to sit down and she brought his cereal to him. 

Klaus curled up the chair, content to listen and watch the life thrum steadily around him, warm and comforting. 

***

Noah checked in and agreed readily that they did not have to do any more experimenting with Klaus’s powers. He seemed to feel a little guilty for having brought it up in the first place. 

Towards the end of the session, Klaus asked hesitantly if Noah had seen anything unusual just before he caught Klaus. The image, the feeling, of Ben’s hands on his arms had shadowed Klaus’s every thought since it happened and he needed to know if it was imagining it or not. 

Noah said that he saw Klaus sway and appear to catch himself, then fall again. He didn’t mention seeing another person. 

Klaus was left with as many questions as when he began. 

***

  
Ben waited three more days to breach the topic.

“Do you think Dad could have been onto something with your powers?”

Klaus stared. “Are you okay?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just lost as to when you went from _Klaus, you shouldn’t snort smack off a toilet seat_ to _maybe Dad was right to jack you up.”_

Ben groaned. “Not what I meant.”

“What the fuck _did_ you mean?”

“Towards the end, he was pushing you to go further with your powers. He wanted you to physically interact with ghosts.”

_Oh._

“Yeah, I remember that, funnily enough.” Klaus tried to brush it off.

Ben ignored him. “What if he was right?”

“About?”

“I swear you’re being purposefully difficult. About you having more power than you knew. I mean, you’ve been sober for just over a year, and you’ve already made more progress than you did in like eleven years of using drugs. So maybe he was right about the type of power that you have, just not about how to control it.”

Klaus considered what Ben had said. “Maybe,” he finally allowed. 

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know…”

“Klaus, I grabbed you.”

Hearing Ben confirm it, that it wasn’t a trick of Klaus’s panicked brain, sent a flutter through his chest. “I know but⏤”

“But what? It was an accident? A fluke? You don’t know how you did it? You’ve said all those things before, Klaus. About summoning me. About changing my appearance. And sure it took practice, but you can easily do those things now. When are you going to stop doubting yourself and downplaying your abilities and just believe in what you’re really capable of?” 

Ben stared Klaus down until he finally broke. “Wow, Ben. Have you ever considered a career in motivational speaking?” he joked, trying to redirect the conversation. 

“If I want to do that, I’m going to need a psychical form,” Ben said dryly. 

_Well that backfired,_ Klaus thought with mild disappointment. 

“Come on,” Ben stretched his arm out. “Touch me.”

***

“Klaus?” Lauren asked, hovering in the door to the room. 

“Yeah?” he looked up from trying (and failing) to play patty-cake with Ben. 

For a moment, it looked like she was going to ask what he was doing before she shook her head, focusing again. “Can I come in?”  
Klaus gestured for her to take a seat. 

She settled across from him, chewing at her lip hesitantly. 

“What’s up?” Klaus asked. 

Lauren spoke slowly, cautiously. “Can I ask you something about your powers?”

His heart constricted for a moment but Klaus forced himself to remember that Lauren wasn’t Reginald. In a false casual tone, he replied, “Sure.” 

“When you tried to access your power with Noah, you were overwhelmed?”

“Essentially.”

“There were a lot of spirits there?”

“Yes.”

“Were,” she paused, her fingers twisting anxiously. “Were you trying to contact one in particular?”

“No, not really. I was just trying to open up enough to connect with any one random person but I lost control.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Well, I was wondering, if maybe, if you had someone to focus on, someone you knew was kind and _good_ , then maybe it wouldn’t be as frightening?” She looked at him apprehensively and a little afraid. 

Things clicked. “Was there someone you wanted to contact?” Klaus asked her kindly. 

Immediately, she blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! That was incredibly inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t have⏤”

“Lauren, it’s okay. Really. Maybe you’re right. Maybe my mistake was opening up too broadly. Back… before, I did best when I had one person to focus on. Your suggestion makes sense."

Lauren watched him in anticipation. 

Before Klaus could change his mind, he asked, “Who did you want to contact?”

“My grandmother. She died last week and⏤”

Klaus jerked in surprise.“Holy shit. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lauren looked down. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how.”

That he could understand. “I know you were close.”

“She practically raised me. I spent so many afternoons at her house. You know, she was the one person who was always proud of me, no matter what. It didn’t matter if I got a B on my physics test. She loved me all the same. And she made the best shortbread.” Lauren smiled a sad distant smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Klaus repeated, not knowing what else to say. 

“She was old. Ninety-five. I’m just," her voice shook. "I can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“Huh?”

“It might help me find her.”

Lauren’s eyes widened. “Wait right here.” 

“Klaus, are you sure?” Ben asked as Lauren left. “Are you ready?” The failed attempt had not been very long ago.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But like I said, maybe she’s right. It was always easier to focus on you because you felt safe. Maybe Lauren’s grandma is the same. Even if I don't know her, I know Lauren. And Lauren is safe.” He was assuring himself as much as Ben as he spoke.

Lauren herself came back a moment later holding a picture frame. With great care, she pressed it into Klaus’s hands. 

He looked down at the image of an old woman and Lauren pressed cheek to cheek, smiling broadly. “I can’t promise you it will work,” he warned. 

“Of course, I appreciate you even trying.”

“She might not even be a ghost," he warned. 

Lauren frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Not everyone is,” Klaus explained. “Some people just go On.”

“On?”

“To the afterlife. Heaven. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Heaven is real?”

Klaus didn’t know how to explain it. “In a way.”

Lauren started to nod before she froze, “Wait. When you said god is woman⏤?”

“Girl. A little girl actually. Kind-of a brat.” Before Lauren could recover from her shock and start asking questions, Klaus continued, “Now be quiet, I’m focusing.” 

He found his way to the doorway quickly, it already being open a sliver to accommodate Ben. Clutching the picture frame painfully tight in his hands, Klaus focused on Lauren’s grandmother. “Hello?” he called. “Hello… Lauren’s grandma? Uh⏤” he cracked an eye open. “Her name?”

“Ruth,” Lauren supplied. 

Klaus closed his eyes again, sliding back into his slow breathing, coaxing the portal open a sliver further. “Ruth?” He could feel spirits brushing against his own soul, giving off vague auras. He let them pass over him, making note of the feeling each imprinted on him. 

_Pain._

_Loss._

_Pain._

_Young._

_Pain._

_Old._

“Ruth?” _No, it was masculine._ Klaus didn’t know how he knew any of that information, just that he felt it. Memories of his time with Reginald, searching for the souls of the missing and murdered, threatened to bubble inside of him but Klaus pushed them down, turning his attention again to Ruth. 

He was safe. He just had to remember that. He was safe. 

“Hello?” he called again. 

A spirit, warm and oddly familiar, curled up against him. “Ruth?” he asked, but knew the answer as clearly as if she was standing before introducing herself in the flesh. Reaching his energy out to her, Klaus took hold of Ruth and drew her back towards life. 

Having returned to his body, Klaus opened his eyes. Ruth stood above him, smiling down at Lauren with happy tears.

“Holy shit,” Ben uttered under his breath.

“Klaus?” Lauren asked. “Did it not work? Are you okay?”

“She’s here.” 

“What?”

“Ruth is here.”

“Where?” Lauren looked wildly around as if she might be able to see the spirit. 

Ruth moved to Lauren’s side, kneeling down. 

“She’s by your right side.”

Lauren stared hungrily into, what was for her, empty air. “She can hear me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Grandma, I’m so sorry,” Lauren sobbed. “If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I wasn’t here, I could have seen you. I’m so sorry.”

“Lulu,” Ruth soothed. “I could never be angry at you.”

“She says she could never be angry at you,” Klaus translated gently. “She called you Lulu.”

Lauren let out another sob even as she smiled. “You’re really here.”

“Yes, darling. I am.”

“She is," Klaus assured Lauren. 

“Lulu, it was my time to go, but I couldn’t move on before I said goodbye.”

Klaus repeated the words back.

“I needed to tell you just one more thing,” Ruth continued. “I wanted to tell you that you are smart. You are a good person. And most of all you are _precious._ Do not ever let anyone tell you differently. I will always, always be proud of you.”

Klaus echoed her words and Lauren sobbed harder. “She used to tell me that every time I felt like I wasn’t enough. She was the only person who ever made me feel like enough.”

Turning back to where she knew Ruth was Lauren said, “Thank you. I have so much I know I want to say to you, but all I think right now is that I love you. I love you, I love you, _I love you._ And I miss you so much.” 

“Come now, Lulu. It’s not forever. You still have a long life ahead of you, and I expect you to enjoy every moment of it. I’ll be waiting, as always, when you’re ready.”

As Klaus finished repeating her last word, Ruth reached out and stroked Lauren’s cheek tenderly. 

A tiny flicker of blue traced across the skin where she made contact, there so briefly it could have been a trick of the light. 

Lauren’s eyes grew to saucers and her hand flew to her cheek. “Grandma?”

“Au revoir, my Lulu.” 

Klaus could feel her let get, the chord that bound her to him disintegrating, not back into the Between, but disappearing into the Beyond. 

“Grandma?” Lauren called again.

Klaus wondered if she felt it too. “She’s gone,” he told her gently. “She’s let go.”

“She’s in heaven?” Lauren asked. 

Klaus didn’t feel it was the time for a theological debate about what exactly On was. “Yes. She said, ‘ _Au revoir, my Lulu'.”_

“Until we meet again,” Lauren translated, blinking back tears. Before Klaus knew what was happening, he was being squeezed tightly around the middle. “Thank you,” Lauren choked. 

Feeling oddly embarrassed, Klaus patted her back. “I’m glad I could help.”

Lauren went to her own room for a bit of privacy after that, and Klaus spent the rest of the day in his own head, going round in circles from memories of the Academy, to the terror of losing control, to the incredible beauty of the moment he'd seen between Lauren and her grandmother. Finally, as he watched through the barren trees as the sun dipped below the horizon in one last bow of vibrant pink, Klaus made up his mind.

“Okay.” 

“Okay, what?” Ben echoed. 

“It’s time that I figure out what I can really do. Starting tomorrow, we get serious about training.” 

***

“Who do we start with?” Klaus asked, spreading the newspaper out across the floor. 

Ben hovered over the obituaries, stroking his chin. “Hmm. Taylor Smith? Seventeen, died in a car crash?”

Klaus made a face. “Sounds messy.” 

“Do you want to do this or not?” 

“Fine.” Klaus drew the newspaper closer to himself, studying the photo carefully. When he felt like he knew the face, Klaus closed his eyes. He pressed his bare feet into the floor, mentally securing himself there. The familiar pins and needles began spreading across his body as he allowed his spirit to become unattached. He passed through the doorway, into the swirling world of spirits. 

“Taylor?” Klaus called, his heart rate increasing even as he told himself there was nothing to fear. “Taylor Smith? Are you here?”

The dead passed over him:

_Sad._

_Scared._

_Angry._

_Sad._

_Sad._

_Sad._

_Sad. Scared. Pain. Young. Hope._ The emotions were explosive and varied from the spirit as opposed to boiled down to one singular feeling as they were in most. Klaus pulled the spirit closer. 

“Taylor?”

_Yes._

Klaus pressed his palms into the floor, returning to his body, pulling Taylor with him. 

He opened his eyes to see the teenager sitting across from him. His face and arms were covered in dozens of little cuts, shards of windshield still stuck in his flesh in places. His head was tilted too far over to the side⏤ broken neck. 

Klaus took a breath to steady himself. “Hi.”

“What’s happening?”

Klaus realized that he had little experience talking to such a fresh ghost. “Um, you… died,” he said carefully, not sure if that was going to be shocking or not.

Taylor rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Good to know teenagers would always be teenagers, even when dead. 

“I meant, what are you?” Taylor asked. 

“I’m Klaus.”

“You’re Klaus?” There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“You’ve heard of me? Damn, word travels fast. How is that every ghost⏤?”

“Can you help me?” Taylor cut him off. 

“I don’t know. What do you⏤”

“The guy that t-boned me. I know his license plate and his name. You can tell the cops.”

“Okay, how am I going to tell them? I don’t think _his ghost told me so_ is going to hold up well in court. _”_

Taylor frowned. “Anonymous tip?”

“I don’t think that works as well in real life as on tv⏤”

“Could you at least try?”

Klaus sighed. “What was the plate?”

Even if he couldn’t do much, Klaus could at least do his best. 

***

Susan was the first to leave, completing her stay two and a half weeks ahead of Klaus. As she hugged them each goodbye in turn, Klaus noted how bright and happy she looked, her cheeks round with health and tinged pink. With promises to see them all soon and good wishes on Klaus’s upcoming hearing, she walked out of the house, carrying her suitcase. 

The remaining four of them watched her embrace her husband, him picking her up with the ferocity of his hug. They got into their car and Susan waved from the window, Klaus, Pete, Daniel, and Lauren doing the same until they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.. The residents stood on the porch together in silence, filled with bittersweet happiness for Susan and already missing her.

***

Noah actually helped Klaus to submit the tip about Taylor’s death, giving him access to the computer in his office to fill out the police form. He seemed relieved and excited that Klaus was making progress with his powers on his own after the disaster of their attempted session. They didn’t attempt to make any more connections in session together, but Klaus kept him updated on the progress made.

***

After Susan’s discharge, Lauren was next to go, just three days later. Before she left, she pulled Klaus aside to thank him one more time for everything that he did for her. Klaus was too embarrassed to say any of the things that he wanted to, like how he was pretty sure that she was the first real true friend he'd ever made, so he just brushed it off, muttering that it wasn’t a big deal. 

Only a taxi came to pick Lauren up, her parents making it clear they were too ashamed to come see her. She pretended it didn't bother her, but the sadness in her eyes was too clear as she explained what was happening in group.

Klaus’s heart ached for her in bitter understanding. 

Before she walked away from the house for the last time, Lauren squeezed Klaus’s hand tightly and promised to see him in two weeks for the hearing. Their matching electric blue nails made it difficult to see where one hand ended and the next began. 

“Au revoir,” Klaus managed to choke out, shaking her hand once.

“Until we meet again,” Lauren responded. She set her shoulders and carried her own bags to the cab. As she drove away, she leaned her perfectly styled head out the window, not appearing to care that the wind pulled flyaways loose as she called, “No matter what, I’m seeing all of you at Christmas!” 

Those left behind laughed and waved as the car drove out of sight. 

***

Pete left the next day, leaving Daniel and Klaus each with a hearty handshake and clap on the back and the promise that they were always welcome to his family potluck. 

***

A week and a half after first contacting Taylor, the paper hit the breakfast table, it’s headline claiming. _Man Charged in Hit and Run That Killed 17-Year-Old._

Klaus read the article furiously, phrases jumping out at him. 

_Anonymous tip._

_Damage to vehicle._

_Pled guilty._

_Maximum sentencing._

He excused himself quickly, throwing the crossword to a very confused Daniel on his way up his room. Now familiar with the spirit, Klaus called Taylor forward easily. “Look!” he held up the paper proudly. “We did it!” It felt better than he could ever remember solving a case to feel. 

“I know,” Taylor said. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as Klaus thought he would.

“What’s the problem? We did it. We got him!” Klaus did a little dance. “Your business is finished. You can move on.”

“I’m still dead.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say to that, the smile sliding off of his face. 

“I’m not ready to be dead. I don’t want to move on.”

He did his best to speak with tact as he asked, “Taylor, no offense buddy, but what is there for you here?”

“I can see my family, my friends. I can see the world.”

“Okay… true," Klaus considered the best way to say what he was thinking. "But all you can do is see. You’ll never be able to talk to them or eat pizza or go to college or do anything a living person could.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Klaus cringed, continuing quickly, “Taylor, buddy, I know you want to still be alive, but I’m sorry. There is nothing that I can for that. People aren’t supposed to stay here forever. That’s why there is an On. A Beyond. A Whatever.”

“But,” Taylor asked, his voice wavering, “I don’t know what that’s going to be like. _This_ , I know.”

_He’s scared,_ Klaus realized. _Obviously._ “I could tell you what it’s like?” Klaus offered tentatively. 

Taylor looked at him quickly. “You can?”

“Yeah. It’s… nice.”

Taylor snorted sarcastically. 

“Really. It’s peaceful and warm and even the rocks are soft. Or at least they don’t hurt, you know?”

“Yeah?” Taylor leaned in like he wanted to make sure he heard every word.

“Yeah. Nothing hurts there. There is no one there who will hurt you.”

Taylor thought about that. “Do you think I should go?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, but when I die, permanently, I’m going On. If there is one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that being a ghost is nothing but misery. The Beyond… it’s nice.”

Taylor gave a tiny nod and then admitted so softly Klaus could barely hear him, “I’m scared.” 

“I know.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“I, I think I need to⏤ I think I’m going to go.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Klaus.”

“Yeah, well, you know. It’s whatever.”

“Will you stay with me? Until I’m gone?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Taylor nodded. He closed his eyes and took one last deep breath. Finally, he looked at Klaus, drinking in one last glimpse of the world. Then he let go.

Klaus gazed at the empty space where Taylor once was. “Goodbye.” His quiet utterance seemed far too loud in the silence that had been left behind.

He didn’t look at Ben, afraid that he would see longing in his eyes, or worse, resentment that Klaus didn’t let him go too.

***

Daniel and Klaus spent their last week in rehab together. It was a blessing that neither of them was alone, but the center didn’t feel as cozy as it once did. Walking past the empty rooms that used to belong to Susan and Lauren and Pete brought back memories of another house slowly losing all the people that Klaus cared about. 

Finding themself increasingly unable to sleep, Klaus lay awake at night, filled with memories of what was left behind. Klaus thought with sadness how lonely it must be in that little bedroom at the end of an empty hall, and questioned for the hundredth time if he made the right decision, not asking Luther to leave with him.

He tried to convince himself that everyone would be waiting for him a week when he was released, but Klaus couldn’t allow himself to believe that anything would be okay until he knew that it would be.

It was simply impossible that anything in his life could go that well.

***

Throughout the entire court proceedings, Klaus shook with barely suppressed nerves. His voice sounded too strained to his own ears as he explained what had led him to the dark place he was before he was arrested and why he deserved another chance at life. He tried not to let it show how much he doubted his own words and fought the urge to look behind him constantly for the assurance that his friends were still there. 

He just had to trust that they were.

Finally, Klaus finished making his case. Silence hung in the court for what felt like far too long, growing heavier with each fraction of a second that Klaus had to wait. 

The judge stared down severely at Klaus from her desk, considering him.

He fought the urge to fidget, repeating assurances in his head. _You did everything you were supposed to. You didn’t do anything wrong. Lillian said your case is strong. You did everything you were supposed to. You didn’t do anything wrong. Lillian said your case is strong. You did everything⏤_

“You have made a strong case, Mr. Hargreeves,” the judge began. “I can see that you understand the gravity of your actions, and I recognize your strong conviction to turn your life around. The recommendations that you have provided from various councilors and therapists at Healing Sage are glowing. 

"It is clear to me that you were handed a rotten slot in life, and have done your best to forge a future for yourself with what you were given. I would say that you deserve a second chance, but it appears to me that you were never given a _first_ chance. For those reasons, I grant your request.”

“Really?” Klaus spoke before he could stop himself.

The judge cracked a small smile. “Really. But I don’t want to see you here again, understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he agreed desperately. 

“Good. All of Mr. Hargreeves’s past charges are therefore to be sealed, only to be accessed by Mr. Hargreeves himself, an approved representative on Mr. Hargreeves’ behalf, or by court order. This court is adjourned.”

Klaus nearly vaulted the barrier to the gallery and was swept into the arms of Lillian and Lauren. 

Ben was all but screaming with excitement as he shouted about it being _finally motherfucking time_ for something to go right.

Klaus couldn’t do anything other than laugh at the insanity of life. Just over a year before, he had been in a different courtroom, deep in the pits of his own personal hell. That day, he stood free in every sense of the word.

He had people who cared about him. He had Ben. He had control over the powers that had held him prisoner for so many years. He was clean. He had a _future,_ and it was totally unrestrained by the weight of his past. 

Klaus left the courtroom, sandwiched between Lillian and Lauren, who had not let go of him since the ruling. He stepped out into the brilliance of the sunlight, leaving the dark confines of the court behind. 

Reginald was nowhere to be found. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some graphic ghosties 
> 
> ****  
> Thank you again to every single person who has read this fic. I know I just wrote 150k words (insanity) but I don't have the ability to express how much you all mean to me. 
> 
> Just.
> 
> Thank you. 
> 
> Please let me know how you feel about this chapter!!!!!!!!
> 
> More love than I know what to do with,  
> [Aye of Newt](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aye-of-newt)
> 
> Edit: There is a [ playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bnj8R6rMS4yZqkiMz8peT?si=6K7FmBjURY68RVmv75i-BA) if you would like to listen


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